


Kaustikos

by Starbound_Beast



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, Crimson Flower Route, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21526753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbound_Beast/pseuds/Starbound_Beast
Summary: Hubert von Vestra has presented as omega and is all but disinherited from his family and replaced as heir by a younger sibling. To add insult to the injury, his father has arranged a courtship between him and none other than the alpha son of Prime Minister von Aegir.It takes some getting used to.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 67
Kudos: 196





	1. Chapter 1

When Edelgard and her siblings had been stolen away, Hubert had considered that the darkest part of his young life. His shame and sorrow both, were immense. To call himself a scion of the Vestra house after his father’s role in the insurrection, was no less than a slap in her ladyship’s face. The Vestra household had once been the undying loyal servant of the Hresvelg dynasty since time immemorial. Pride had once filled him to think himself the von Vestra heir. All of that pride had been shattered on the dark day she had been taken away from him.

He scarcely could have imagined a darker circumstance to befall him.

Until, that is, the month in which he turned 18.

* * *

It began with a headache, as most nuisances in his life often did.

In the beginning, he merely put it off to his extensive Reason training. Every other morning, at the break of dawn, he would train uninterrupted for hours at a time. He would start by exercising body and mind; jogging, fencing, solo chess. He would prepare himself thusly, and then report to his instructor. His instructor Vasquez had always said black magic came with a certain physical toll; migraines and sore muscles were but a small price to pay for power.

“One’s will and mind must be strong, for magic has a mind of its own. It will take its price on the weak and the ignorant,” said the man in his strange accent. Despite a flair for dramatics almost as strong as his accent, Vasquez was a well-regarded instructor, one his father had paid dearly for. Hubert flourished under his teaching and made sure to get every penny’s worth out of it. So, that morning he’d merely sipped at his light roast, willing the caffeine to cease the throbbing in his temple and lower back.

The next morning it had returned with a vengeance during training. So much so it had even caused him to falter visibly in front of Vasquez.

“You are going to wind up dead if you show such idiocy on the field of battle!”

His instructor, ever the believer in the practical application of his methods, took the opportunity to strike his student with one of the more minor states of the Thoron spell. Minor though it was, it hurt almost as acutely as the steady migraine and ache in his lower abdomen. He fell to his knees with the pain of it, cursing his pathetic lapse in strength.

“Come on boy. Up!” A boot jabbed him in the ribs and he doubled over, feeling as though his teacher may have well stabbed him instead.

“I-I am-” He began, the bile rising in his throat.

“I-I-I- cease this stuttering nonsense, you sound like an ass. Up!”

Hubert managed it somehow and through the throbbing in his lower body and head, he limped through the rest of the drills to Vasquez’ eternal nagging.

By the end of it, the headache had all but subsided and the ache in his abdomen had become a distant throbbing. He contemplated killing Vasquez, not for the first time since the man had begun his training, but put it off to a later date. After he told himself, after he learned all that he could in the name of Lady Edelgard, he would consider it. Instead, the moment Vasquez had finally left, Hubert turned and promptly purged the meager contents of his stomach onto the grass. It was then he finally realized, that perhaps his body was telling him something.

He couldn’t do much about it at that exact moment in time, however, owing largely to the fact that he blacked out there in the courtyard.

* * *

He awoke, bleary-eyed to the bustling noise of several people in his room. True consciousness took it’s time reaching him; his vision melted and burnt, nauseousness caused his empty stomach to clench violently and his nose was assaulted by the overpowering sweet stench of rotting flowers of all things. But above all, there was the heat. A near blinding, painful, sweaty heat that radiated from his abdomen into his back, limbs and every part in between.

“- too old for it, but I’m afraid-”

“-the poor child. The pain must be immense-”

“-nothing to be done but keep the room cool-”

“-must be mistaken. My heir cannot be a-”

It was his father. He could pick his father’s voice out of a chorus of demons. That imperious, arrogant timbre shook something in him that he couldn’t explain. A riling of feeling beyond the usual hatred and disdain. It was something that made him feel small and impotent in a way it hadn’t done since he was a child.

He felt compelled to obey. It was revolting.

“What-” he croaked as he feebly fought with the sheets on his bed. He felt stupidly weak, for all the training he’d done. A single hand held him down and a glass of water pressed his lips. He drank gratefully, feeling more pathetic than ever.

“ _Shh._ Don’t try to move dear,” came a motherly voice. “We can give you something to help you sleep, but at this stage, the pain is inevitable.”

“S-stage of what?” He asked, voice timorous with fear and pain. What manner of disease could he have come down with in a couple of days? What was it that was sapping his strength and burning him alive from the inside? A cancer? A parasite? A curse?

He opened his eyes and immediately was struck by the darkness of the room. He felt as though he had been baking in the sun, but all of the curtains must have been drawn and the canopy around his bed was pulled so only a sliver of his room was visible. The light of a single lamp at his bedside illuminated a matronly, white-haired woman he took to be a physician. She smiled at him.

“It’s a natural change, not a disease. Don’t you fret.”

A _natural_ change? When his flesh felt fit to melt off his bones and his innards felt like angry serpents? Who was this simpering woman? Before he could berate her, a series of debilitating cramps had him clutching his legs to his stomach like a child.

“He is awake?” His father’s voice came closer and the canopy pulled back.

“Likely only temporarily. For the next week or so he may come in and out of consciousness until the change has completed.”

“How upsetting.”

Indeed Hubert thought, as he curled ever tighter into the fetal position. That pathetic feeling had returned to him once again.

“There is nothing to be done about it then.”

“Well, there’s certainly a great deal to be done about it! Careful nursing, education, proper-”

“Thank you. That will be all for now. I will have a moment alone with my son while he is coherent.”

“Er, of course Lord Vestra.”

Through a sickening pulse of teeth grinding pain, he heard them shut the door. On the list of situations he enjoyed, being alone and vulnerable in the presence of his father ranked very low. A moment of silence passed before Hubert willed himself to look up.

In the dim light, the tall, lithe figure of Marquis Bertrand von Vestra seemed to waver. Hubert blinked away the double vision and swallowed.

“What is my ailment?”

His father glared down at him.

“You have presented.”

“P-presented?”

“Fool boy-” His father spat and pulled him up by the chin with a painful yank. Brought up into an uncomfortable sitting position, back screaming in agony, stomach cramping anew, Hubert choked out a startled whimper.

“You are an omega!” The hand gave his head a violent shake and he clutched at the arm holding him. “My heir, a weak useless omega!”

He was thrown back against the bed, where he lay curled back in on himself like an insect, sore chin but one new pain in a sea of many.

“The smell is sickening, nobody could mistake you now.” The cold, cruel voice accused, as though Hubert had chosen this agony for the specific purpose of foiling his father’s plans. That, he might have done any number of ways, but this was beyond what he could have ever imagined. To be an omega was to be the complete opposite of what he had spent his whole life striving for. His status, his inheritance, and his rightful place at Edelgard’s side.

“But I am a beta-ahh!” The cramp became overpowering and his vision went sideways.

“That may have been the case once, but no longer. All of the effort I have invested in you, the training, the time, the money, spent building you up _wasted_. It simply cannot be borne, but needs must. . .”

His consciousness was slipping again and his father seemed to realize it. Soon enough, the light had dimmed and the Marquis had thankfully gone and Hubert was left in his heated painful state, alone.

* * *

Alone he stayed until restless sleep finally took him. He had been in that state, he came to find out later, for the better part of a fortnight. Floating in and out of consciousness, only to wake in pain with one of the physicians coming to dote upon him as though he were an invalid. Certainly he felt like one. He was barely able to leave his bed without vomiting or falling to his knees. Unable to eat more than a simple broth. Unable to even relieve himself without assistance.

Hubert had once believed losing Edelgard to the kingdom to be the darkest point in his life. Now though, he felt it came in a rather close second to the agony of the omega metamorphosis. Edelgard had been his reason for being, the meaning for his existence. Now in this new hell, he doubted she would ever want a weak, mewling cretin for her servant.

Once the week and a half of hell had passed, he came to a new stage in his change which Gerta, the simpering female physician, had called the stasis.

“First, usually beginning around the age of the patient’s initial puberty, is the confirmation stage. Which you are well acquainted with,” Gerta tittered, neatly folding his dressing gown back around his lap. Hubert scrambled to put his legs back under the sheets, all semblance of dignity lost to him since the woman had been examining his genitalia. Hubert glared at the end of his bed. The roiling agony had been his very _innards_ rearranging themselves in accordance with some particularly eldritch perversion of sensible beta biology. “The second is stasis. Which is categorized by the pain subsiding, a bit of sweating maybe, and overall the body’s physiology returning to a relatively normal state.”

“Good.”

“Open,” she stuck a thermometer in his mouth, waited a minute and pulled it out. She gave him that same sunshine smile she had been giving him from the beginning. “It’s very good! You’ve entered stasis. In perhaps a week, the third and final stage will begin.” Turned away from him, Gerta puttered about with her instruments and Hubert watched bleary-eyed. The woman was a simpering, overtly cheerful creature but at the least she was knowledgable. And he hadn’t died under her care, for all he wished he could have. 

“What is the final stage?”

“Kaustikos.”

“Kaustikos? As in- _oh_.” She turned to him with the mild sedative and vitamin mixture which had become as familiar to him as his morning coffee. He hadn’t been allowed to have caffeine in all this time, to his dismay. His fingers twitched around the pills just imagining the rich aroma of a fine dark roast. He swallowed them all dry, despairing of the nasty taste.

“Yes, oh. The first heat. I like you, so, I won’t lie to you Hubert-”

“Don’t presume-”

“Sorry my dear, I’m too old to bother sometimes. _Young master Vestra_. Your first heat will likely be as intense as the confirmation, but the subsequent ones will never be quite as intense once your body becomes accustomed to it.”

 _Heat._ The lurid state of wanton desire to be bred that every omega was burdened with. To be subservient and lust after any alpha who may happen upon them. This was the lot of every pitiful omega and Hubert was now doomed to their ranks.

“Don’t look so dour. You really do have a knack for that.”

“How can I not be dour?” He snapped. “I have lost my title, my future, and I have become a slave to my body. I will likely be married off to some minor alpha noble, with the expectation that I be a complacent broodmare.”

Gerta sat at his bedside. “You could be surprised. You might not be the Vestra heir any longer, but who’s to say you still can’t become anything you wish?”

“Society? My father? The noble he ties me to?”

She pulled the coverlet over him, and he allowed it. He was becoming used to her mothering ways, as much as it riled him to be doted upon like a child.

“Like I said, you might be surprised; I’ve seen plenty of arranged marriages become affectionate in my time. Besides,” she said as she rose to leave. “Omegas aren’t as slavish to their biologies as you’ve been led to believe.”

“Is that so.” Hubert grunted, tiring of her as the sedative worked its mundane magic.

“Just so. _I am_ an omega. And I also happen to be the foremost expert in my specialty in the empire. So I think I know a thing or two about it.”

She patted his hand once and he watched her go, frowning.

* * *

Gerta was his only ally at this time, little though it meant. His brothers, to whom he had never been particularly close, steered clear of even his hallway. So he caught only glimpses of their scent through the doorway. They smelled familiar, like his own scent, yet less sweet.

 _That_ had been a surprising change. Scents had never bothered him overmuch when he’d been a beta. He could always smell the things which had noticeable or pleasant aromas, but things like a person’s unique scent had been lost to him. He’d heard about it of course. An alpha smelled intoxicating to an omega, an enemy might smell a certain way, a friend might smell another. The thought of smelling a person’s odor, pleasant or not was a revolting concept, but it was one he was becoming accustomed to.

Gerta, for instance, smelled like an omega. An older one, but still undeniably an omega. It was as he smelled. Sweet, crisp, like the scent of a flower or fruit. Saccharine to the point of poetic cliche, really. Several servants whom he’d never really noticed before his change also smelled this way. They were primarily the ones who had begun to change his bedding and bring him food. It was only proper, he supposed, for omega servants to serve an omega master.

One young man had even begun to leave a vase full of fresh spring flowers on his bedside table. Hubert had been surprised to find the scents of the flowers pleasant, as though they’d been specifically chosen to appease an omegan sensibility.

“T-the pink flowers are laurustinus. They have a mild scent and are really pretty this time of year. They’re from the garden.” The boy was older than him, shorter and rounder. He stood with eyes downcast and hands clasped before Hubert like the picture of omegan obedience itself.

“What is your name?”

“I am Oscar, young master. I work, um, in the garden.”

While Hubert pretended to consider this in silence, he observed Oscar. He was pretty in a plain way, sunburnt and blond with teeth too big for his mouth. The boy fidgeted with his calloused fingers at the pocket of his apron. No doubt he had heard all about the sorry state of the deposed Vestra heir, and come up from the garden with fanciful thoughts of flowers and friendship and _pity._ Hubert had never been one to be unjustly cruel, not with the household staff. To be cruel to the help was the sport of vapid, useless nobles. Yet something cruel in him had been born with the change and it caused him to reach out.

The boy flinched, but Hubert ignored him and reached for the vase full of bushy pink flora. He pressed it to the aproned chest and let go the second the boy had a hold on it.

“Don’t bring flowers to my room again. They're nauseating.”

“Of-of course!” The idiot bowed as he blubbered, spilling half of the water in the vase on the floor in the process. “Oh no!” He began to kneel, frantically attempting to wipe the mess with his apron, before Hubert, suddenly tired, cleared his throat.

“Just leave, the next maid will get it.”

“I’m, I’m, so sorry!”

The boy all but ran from the room, nearly smacking into Gerta as he fled. She stared down the hall after him, lips pursed.

“Oh my Hubert, that boy looked ready to cry. Did you smile at him?”

“What did I tell you about presuming?”

“Did I tell you I’m old?”

Hubert scoffed and pulled the covers up around his neck, settling in for another lecture with the good doctor. She was too informal with him, too irreverent. Though she was right; She was old. And, he supposed with age came a certain amount of carelessness as well as wisdom.

Gerta came closer and tutted at him. In a literal flash, the canopy was pulled away to reveal the harsh light of midday.

“You know what, we should get you out of this room. You’re due for some exercise. Plus, you’re ripe.”

Hubert clenched his eyes shut at the sudden painful sun glare and groaned when the covers were yanked down.

“You get dressed and we’ll take a nice walk together . . . Why is the floor wet?”

* * *

Twenty minutes later he was nominally washed and dressed in a silk dress-robe and on his way down to the very garden he’d banished Oscar to. It mattered not, Hubert felt no guilt or compunction. He reviled the thought of that boy pitying him. Though he was weak, and tired, and aching and pitiable to the very depths of his soul, he refused to be pitied by anyone.

Gerta had been right, as she so often seemed to be. He really did need exercise. Even walking down the stairs, and through the halls to the garden was enough to get him near to the point of panting. He’d been laying useless in bed for far longer than he was used to.

“Your body’s gone through a great deal of stress in the past few weeks. It’s only normal that you’d be winded even after a small walk. Take your time.” Gerta called back, as she bent to inspect a rose bush.

Hubert leant heavily into the nearby column of the gazebo as he glared after her. The muscles in his calves burnt with the effort of the walk, and he cursed his weakness for the hundredth time. He gazed out over the garden at nothing in particular and was caught by the glimpse of the courtyard through the hedges.

There was Vasquez and before him, his brothers Edmund and Luis. The man was gesturing with his usual theatrical vehemence, wisps of miasmic ooze brushing at the air above them with the movements. Hubert could feel the sting of the magic from where he stood, hell, he could _smell_ it.

Burnt, acrid, and metallic, it attacked his senses. The scent of it was so overpowering as to be unbearable. He pressed a sleeve to his face, but the silk did little to prevent his retching. Gerta was by his side in an instant. A cloth was held out to him, smelling of menthol and herbs, and he accepted it. Instantly the scent was muted and a cooling sensation took over.

“I suppose you see now, why there are so few omegan mages. Healers or clerics, plenty.”

She began walking away and he pushed from the gazebo to follow, keeping the cloth pressed to his face.

“I’ve always thought . . .” He paused.

“That the magic is too much for our delicate bodies to handle? That the magic, ‘taints the meat’ as they say?”

Hubert wrinkled his nose beneath the cloth.

“In not so many words, but yes. I had thought that.”

“Hm. You wouldn’t be alone. A beta has a reduced olfactory sense, they cannot notice it as we can, while an alpha has no problems with the stench. It’s been theorized it’s something to do with the nature of black magic which makes it so repulsive. I don't know what I believe, but I've never been much into the arts to begin with.”

It was something he had considered while he laid up in bed. His title was forfeit, so why not his magic? It was considered inappropriate in polite society to speak of black magic in the company of the uninitiated, and he’d honestly never heard of an omega being trained in the art of Reason. Hubert however, had not fully resigned himself to a life without his magic. He had planned to continue his training in secret, all the better to serve his lady. But now he was stricken. How could he ever train in the arts if the very scent of it made him sick to his stomach?

They continued in silence, Gerta stopping occasionally to remark on some plant or other, Hubert’s eyes slipping every so often to the hedge row. Behind which, his brothers were currently taking what had once been his birthright.

* * *

In the next couple of days, he took walks on his own at the opposite side of the Vestra manor. The scents there, while more mingled with those of the stables, were much more tolerable. The manor was situated on a hillock, the house built on the site of an ancient fortress. One could see for miles through the moors and valleys surrounding the grounds. The grounds themselves abutted a thick, primeval forest renown for its plentiful game and flora. It was a location appropriate for the household of a major noble.

Yet, the “Vestra Manor” was not an ancestral home, but a house that had come into Vestra possession only after the insurrection. It was midway between the imperial capital of Enbarr and the Hresvelg territory. The Vestra family had come to occupy it almost immediately following the insurrection. It stood to reason in Hubert’s mind, that the manor and surrounding grounds were akin to blood money, or stolen goods. Hubert was therefore, not upset by the thought that he would never be lord of “Vestra Manor.” He longed instead for the days when he had roamed the imperial palace, growing up in its splendor and rich history and in the company of the royal children.

Now, he supposed _this_ was where he belonged. Isolated from all he had ever known or truly loved, only able to contact his lady in secret.

A walk around the perimeter alone was preferable; all the better, when no one could see him stumble about as he regained his strength. The winds were quite rough on the grounds near the top of the hillock, the spring breeze, usually so light within the manor grounds, could chill one to the bone.

Gerta had pressed upon him the heavy cloak he wore, though it was stifling. He felt overheated beneath it, even as the wind accosted his face. According to her, it was a sign that his misery was about to begin again very soon.

“Any day now.” He followed the progress of a stag herd as they made their way out of the woods and across the moor below.

“Well now. If it isn’t the young Vestra heir, out for a lonely stroll,” a deep, sophisticated voice called from some distance behind him. The hair on the back of his neck rose.

The voice was familiar, but not quite recognizable. Hubert pulled at one cuff, not comforted until he felt the blade hidden there. One could not be too careful even in one’s own home. Especially in one’s own home. He turned and prepared himself to confront his unwanted guest.

Volkhard von Arundel, regent of the empire and maternal uncle to the imperial princess, stood before him. Hubert had always been tall and he supposed, taller than an omega was expected to be. He and Arundel were nearly of a height. Though Arundel had several centimeters on him, he looked down at him as though from on high.

“Lord Arundel. You haven’t heard? I am no longer heir to my father’s name.”

The man smiled, the gesture clearly foreign to the face, the too familiar violet eyes remaining cold. He leant in closer, as though about to disclose a conspiracy. Hubert repressed the urge to curl away from the alpha and kept his unwavering eye contact.

“I have heard. Most unfortunate, but these things can’t be helped, can they?” Arundel’s nostrils flared, very obviously taking him in. He was made acutely aware of the man’s own scent: strong, musky, and overbearing. It was stifling, and the heat beneath his cloak seemed to radiate. This was the effect of an alpha’s proximity to an omega?

Hubert was a newly changed omega, and as such, unlearned in the manners required in such a situation. Still, he told himself wryly, he much doubted Arundel’s approach was appropriate. The man was crowding him while blatantly scenting him. And another thing-

“I find it strange that your father would allow you out unchaperoned so close to your time. . . And with such revealing attire.”

“My attire?” Hubert’s cloak was ankle length and clasped tight around his chest, boots laced up to his calf, and his hands were gloved as was his usual fashion. Nothing about his attire seemed inappropriate to him. Certainly Gerta had approved of it when she’d handed him the cloak.

“Your neck.”

“My neck,” Hubert parroted again, feeling rather stupid.

Arundel was staring intently down at him, eyes flickering to his neck, down his chest and back again. The skin on his neck prickled. Absurdly, he felt the urge to cover it. He’d left it uncovered as it had become one of the hottest points on his body and even the thought of a scarf chafed him. Gerta hadn’t said anything about it, but she’d laughed when he’d pushed the collar of his cloak down.

He was relieved when Arundel finally pulled away with a smirk. The man was still much too close for comfort, but at least now Hubert couldn’t feel the awful heat of him.

“You have much to learn my dear, but I trust someone with your capabilities will flourish. Walk with me?” The man held out his arm and Hubert stared after it for a moment before realizing with a sinking in his stomach, that he was expected to walk at the alpha’s side. He regretfully looped his arm through Arundel’s and allowed the man to lead him further on the path.

“I have just come back from business with the marquis. A shrewd and capricious man, that father of yours. I suppose it is what makes him such a formidable politician.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. He’s very unreasonable, though I suppose I can see why. He has very fine children, much to lose were he to take a misstep. What an attentive father.”

Hubert heroically kept himself from laughing at that. Whatever _that_ was about, he’d love to know. It sounded vaguely threatening. He didn’t get the chance to ask as Arundel kept talking.

“Tell me Hubert, have you heard at all from my dear niece lately?”

“I have not.” The lie came easy, but he struggled to keep his voice neutral. The unease that had been building since Arundel had appeared reached its peak at the mention of his master.

“I have. She is well. She tells me she wishes to go to Garreg Mach in the next year or so.”

“The officer’s academy?” Edelgard and he had talked about the academy at length. It was her belief, and Hubert's for that matter, that the Church of Seiros was hiding something there. They _had_ planned to go to the academy to investigate in the next year, but now. . .

“Yes," continued Arundel. "I am supportive of that decision. Perhaps you might join her as well? How long has it been since you've last seen her?” Why would she tell Arundel? She trusted her uncle as little as she trusted the Church, and with good reason. Arundel had been one of the main players in the insurrection along with his own father. 

“Hubert!” The sharp bark of his name startled him out of his thoughts.

“Ah, we’ve been found. Lord Vestra!” Arundel turned them toward the intruder, shoulder very obviously pressed against Hubert’s, head inclined toward him and his large hand resting possessively on top of Hubert’s. What a picture they must have made. The look of naked shock on his father’s face nearly made the skin-crawling sensation worth it.

The marquis stood in the doorway leading toward the courtyard, obviously just come from watching the progress Vasquez may or may not be making with his brothers. Hubert could smell the odor of it and itched to grab for the cloth in his pocket, yet Arundel still held him captive.

“Young Hubert and I were just discussing the Officer’s Academy, weren’t we?”

“Yes.” Hubert watched his father’s face settle from shock into grim suspicion. “Perhaps I might be allowed to attend this year? Surely such a place would be perfect for-”

“Not now.” He snapped. “I was just on my way to retrieve you. You will bid farewell to the regent, then come to my office. I have something I need to discuss with you.” The marquis’s eyes flickered toward the regent’s and he gave a slight nod. “Good day to you Lord Arundel.”

Arundel inclined his head graciously. “And you Lord Vestra.”

He gave one last lingering look to Hubert before abruptly turning on his heel and retreating back the way he came.

“Ah, I suppose I’ve struck a nerve. No matter.” He turned toward Hubert with a sly smile. “I don’t want to get you into any more trouble, so I’m afraid this is where we must part.” Arundel lifted the hand he’d kept captive to his lips and pressed a light kiss to the kid-glove. “Until next time, young Vestra.”

“Farewell Lord Arundel.” The man kept his hold on Hubert’s hand until the last possible second, letting it slip through his own as he finally turned and left. Hubert watched him until he turned the corner of the manor leading toward the front lawn, where no doubt his carriage was waiting to take him back to Enbarr. Hubert waited for a second longer before he removed both of his gloves, and flung them into the woods.

Not even a month of being an omega, and he already reviled nearly every alpha he knew. Splendid.

* * *

The marquis wasn’t sitting behind his desk when Hubert finally entered his office. He was standing at the window just behind it overlooking the courtyard and gardens, a small tumbler full of something amber in his hand.

“I pray you have not made a fool of me before the regent,” he said without turning.

“It was not my intention.” Hubert had been too busy ignoring the way the man made his stomach turn to bother trying. It would have been easy enough though. It seemed whatever business Arundel had had with his father, he’d not liked the conclusion. Hubert might have only had to pry, add a little comment here and there about “the marquis’s opinions” to rile the alpha up.

“Your brothers are acclimating well to the training.”

“That is good.” Hubert didn’t care.

“Yes. Though Edmund is the older and heir by successive rights, I am having them both trained. In the case of. . .”

He didn’t have to finish the thought, Hubert knew why. They were both betas, neither of them showing any discernible signs and both of them past the age where the change should rightly manifest. But his father was not taking any more chances after Hubert’s little disappointment.

“But their future is not what I had wished to discuss. We are here to talk about your future, Hubert.” The marquis finally turned to face him and placed his drink on the desk. “You are aware, I'm sure, there is now a certain duty expected of you as a noble-born omega. I trust you will accept it as enthusiastically as you have your duties as heir.” His tone brooked no argument, but Hubert didn’t feel up to it. He kept silent and his father took that as assent.

“I have made arrangements which you will, in time, find acceptable. Arrangements for a suitable marriage partner for yourself. I have sent inquiries to several families with eligible alpha scions, one of which has shown a very favorable interest in meeting with you. This is pleasing, as the house in question is a very prominent one.”

“Oh,” said Hubert, feigning interest. “Which house might that be?” Yes, what inbred and illustrious new name was he to be saddled with? Which “eligible alpha scion” would use him like a broodmare and keep him from ever serving his lady? Or at least try to; Hubert was not simply going to roll over for an alpha, no matter who his father chose.

“House von Aegir. The Prime Minister’s heir, Ferdinand is of age. The boy is well educated-”

“Absolutely not.”

The marquis had, up until this point stood behind his desk with his arms folded. Now, he leant forward, put his hands on the desk and narrowed his eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“I refuse.”

Marquis von Vestra rounded his desk and came to stand just before him. He loomed over his omega son, scent pricking the hairs on the back of Hubert’s neck. He had not really taken the time yet to scent his father. The man had a musky, overbearing scent like Arundel, but it didn’t cause the heat in his skin to rise. It merely made him feel vulnerable and insignificant.

“Excuse me?” The marquis posited again, his voice much softer and deadlier than before.

Hubert leant forward, voice an angry whisper. “I will not marry the son of the man you conspired against the emperor with. I will never be your pawn-”

Hubert had been expecting the backhand and was proud of himself for not flinching. Though it stung, his ears burnt more than his cheek. He kept his head in the position in which it had snapped: staring at the ornate bookshelf on the opposite side of the office. The carved face of a long-dead emperor gazed blankly back at him.

“It could be much worse for you were I not a thoughtful father. You are an omega son of a noble house, crest or no, and that status makes you very desirable. You have many options. Would you prefer to marry someone older? Lord Arundel himself was among the first to offer for your hand. The two of you seemed very cozy on your little walk, perhaps you would like for me to accept his suit instead?” His voice was thick and sardonic, yet he didn’t seem to be joking.

Arundel had asked for Hubert’s hand.

So _he_ had been the business that Arundel and his father had disagreed upon. Why would Arundel, who had gone unmarried for so long want to marry him? And for that matter, why had his father refused him? Did their acquaintance not extend beyond the realm of the treasonous? Hubert assumed it must have been his "shrewd and capricious" father merely keeping his options open.

A hand pulled his face back around, causing him to jolt in surprise.

“I know this is hard for you Hubert. It is new and painful. This is . . . hard for me as well.”

That was rich. He wasn’t the one expected to spread his legs for the highest bidder. He wasn't the one whose life had been upended, whose body had turned painful traitor, whose rights had been diminished over night. The forced tenderness in his father’s voice made him more uncomfortable than the slap had.

“But I want you to think of the possibilities. You will marry well, we have the connections. Ferdinand is close in age to you and by all accounts, an affable young man. You could very well be the spouse of the next Prime Minister.”

 _I could have been the right hand of an emperor, yet you and your ilk stole her from me. And what you didn’t steal, has been lost to my miserable new status._ Hubert said nothing and obstinately kept his eyes slid over to the side of the room. The hand shook his head, but gently.

“Look at me, Hubert.” He acquiesced if only to get peace. The acidic green eyes of his father bore into his own with an intensity in them that Hubert had rarely seen. He had trouble placing it.

“I want only the best for each of my children. Even if they do not agree. . . At least meet the boy before you outright refuse. Hm?”

He nodded the best he could in the clutches of those strong fingers and was released for his efforts. 

"Good." His father turned and picked his drink back off the desk. Hubert watched as he took a drink, numb.

“I will write the Prime Minister to set up a meeting tonight. Now return to your room. I can smell the heat on you, it’s indecent.”

That he gladly did, if only to escape the uncomfortable feeling of his father’s presence. The heat followed him as he went, a simmering presence just beneath his skin. He felt it stirring inside of him like a hunger. It frightened him how deep that hunger seemed to go.

_I will meet the boy, I will gain the measure of him and I will reserve my judgments until that time. If not for anything else but the sheer entertainment value._

_But first, I must write a letter of my own._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i want a fic that shows crimson flower from hubert's pov... but is also a/b/o with omega hubert.  
> nobody:  
> me: ... aww shit
> 
> And So, omega!Hubert has taken over my brain and I'm powerless to resist him and alpha!Ferdie. Seriously guys I'm thinking about this shit at work lol. This is my first attempt at a longer story and a/b/o. I'm kind of nervous, not going to lie, but I refined the outline three times and know where this crazy train is going, so I have faith. No promises though, because LIFE and LAZY.
> 
> this is also not beta'd. sorry i'm a shy little trash goblin. I agonize over my writing enough to compensate I think lol
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha! I didn't die! I was just overwhelmed by the holidays, work, family etc.! I hate being an anxiety-filled adult! Also, I wrote like 3k of this chapter the week after I posted the first one and then realised it was shit and had to stare at it until it magically got kind of better! I know excuses, excuses whatever. Lesson learned; next time I want to make a longfic, I'm going to have more written before I post. 
> 
> This story is unbeta'd, self-indulgent, weird and I'm probably not going to win the Nobel Prize in literature for it any time soon; I just had to realise that sooner. LMAO. Also, I kind of made my New Year's resolution that I'd finish this sometime this year. . . We'll see haha!
> 
> Anyway, thank you to everyone who read, kudos'd and commented. I'm writing this for me first of all, but all of y'all really make me excited to write! Hope you enjoy!

His first letter had been somewhat . . . _dramatic._ He’d written it the first night he’d coherent enough to hold a pen.

 _My dearest lady,_ it had begun, _the worst possible fate has befallen me. I have been stricken with an affliction from which there is no cure. I have presented as an Omega. . ._

He cringed even recalling the first lines. His handwriting had been as atrocious as it had never been; his hand had shaken, dripping ink and smearing it in fat drops across the page. He might as well have wept all over the page like a child, that would have made it even better. Such a mortifying thing, and to think he had actually sent it to her by post where anyone could intercept it.

The chiefest insult of the whole debacle had been his ignorant use of “the worst possible fate.” As though his lady had not endured much, much worse and lived to eventually suffer his whinging.

He had then neatly wrapped it up with a bit of self-deprecation.

_I understand if this issue causes you to lose faith in my abilities and will not take offense if you wish to confide in another. I am expected to marry and devote my life to another. On top of that, this change has made me less than I was. I have instincts that could make me a target. I am unable to perform magic due to the mere smell of it. I am weakened._

His lady however, in a testament to her infinite patience and wisdom had replied kindly.

_Hubert, don’t be a fool. You are my confidant and, omega or not, I will never have a truer, more capable friend. I trust that you will be able to overcome this with your usual cunning and dedication. Please keep heart, and know that I rely upon you; You are irreplaceable to me. We will meet again soon, I will see to it. Please, be patient. Until that time, heal and adjust to your new status the best you can. We will figure this out together, just as we always have._

_El._

When he had received her reply that night he had in fact, shed a tear. Hormones, definitely.

* * *

The letter he sent the night of his first heat was much more measured and well written, despite his body’s heated state. He had sent it not by post, but by a device of his own making. The commentarius.

_My Lady,_

_I regret to inform you there have been several new and troubling developments since last I wrote you. Your uncle has just paid a visit to my father. You will never guess for what business, so I will spare you: the man asked for my hand in marriage. The man also made several unseemly comments toward my person. Obviously, I do not trust his intentions. My father refused his advances; I thank whatever non-existent deity responsible. Yet still, I am at the mercy of my father. He and my new status prohibit me from coming to your side._

_The second development is entirely my father’s doing. He has contacted a number of noble houses for courtship agreements. Very loathsome business, especially considering Ferdinand von Aegir among them has apparently, “shown a very favorable interest” in me. The marquis’s words, not mine. I have not seen Ferdinand in years, I know not what he’s like now. But whatever he thinks will happen, he will be sorely mistaken. I have no interest in the son of a traitor._

_I will find a way to you, Lady Edelgard, one way or the other. If I have to abscond to Enbarr on my own, I will. For now, I will humour my father and play the dutiful omegan son. I await your orders._

_Your Faithful Servant, H._

* * *

After he’d written his missive, he sat there, contemplating.

She had not written back since the first reply. Odd, considering the commentarius- the magicked diaries he had devised- was simple enough to use, if slightly unwieldy. One wrote their message on the page, and within an hour, the ink would sink through to its copy’s page. Within another hour of being opened, the message would be dissolved into nothing. Lady Edelgard wrote on the first hundred pages and he on the last. It was as secure as his own spell-work so long as the diary was kept on one’s person. So it was concerning that he had not heard anything more from her since.

He didn’t doubt that whatever kept her contacting him wasn’t due to incompetence. She must have merely been kept busy by something far more important.

What he did doubt, was the lingering feeling she’d still reject him. Though he’d believed her when she had called him irreplaceable, it was well within her rights to cast him off.

What would he do, he wondered. Would he be able to content himself to . . . to what? Life as the perfect spouse? This Ferdinand von Aegir may well be just as treacherous and corrupt as his own father. He, as the omega husband of the prime minister, would be expected to lie under him, endure his rutting and bear his heirs. It would be a cold miserable life, with unwanted children and a husband he hated. He would rot away to nothing; a lifeless husk without purpose or magic.

The very thought of such a life curled his lip. No, even if lady Edelgard did decide his usefulness was through, even if such a thing would shatter his heart, he would still find a way to support her.

Once he was satisfied the ink had dried, he shut the commentarius and hid it beneath his mattress. Then, he extinguished his lamp, climbed into bed and stared up into the dark ceiling.

Waiting.

He’d been warned by the doctor to stay in his room for the duration of his heat. Supposedly, he’d become a quivering mass of desperate, insensate lust in short order, aching for the relief of an alpha’s knot. . .

_Disgusting._

He’d rarely indulged his hormones before the change. The sight of his own mean body often repulsed him, and the only pleasure he gained from touching himself was in the release of pent up frustration. Frustration which, often times seemed more apt to come out through training rather than the touch of his awkward hands on his intimate person.

Yet now, the ache in his groin was like a throbbing pain. It called to him to touch, hands twitching to find even the smallest bit of satisfaction, but he stayed rigid atop the covers. He radiated heat, skin clammy with condensation. He felt weak all over, wanting for something he did not want at the same time. It was similar to the confirmation, but not painful. _Intense._

He screwed his eyes shut.

If he did not acknowledge the desire, it would surely dissipate.

His mind readily supplied his lady. Princess Edelgard, who had been taken to the kingdom, and subjected to cruel torture by those who sought to use her as a puppet. He recalled the way she had looked when she had first returned. Small and vulnerable, violet eyes empty with grief, auburn hair turned ghostly white. She had once been so vibrant and carefree, but that had all been taken from her. Taken by corrupt nobles who cared about nothing else but what they could _gain._ Nobles like his father and the Prime Minister. Or like her own treacherous uncle.

Arundel, who had come the moment he’d gotten wind of his status to ask for his hand. If Arundel were to marry him, he could legally do with Hubert what he damn well pleased. On top of that, it would severely hamper his duty to Lady Edelgard, which was likely the whole point of his suit. . .

Hubert was Lady Edelgard’s one true ally in all the empire and an accomplished mage, for all that he couldn’t currently use the arts. Even her own father, Emperor Ionius IX, was too weak both physically and politically to keep her safe. She was all alone in a den full of wolves, and Hubert cursed the circumstances that had led to his presenting at the manor.

He’d spent the majority of his time in Enbarr with her following her return, acting as the future Marquis von Vestra should by serving as the dutiful vassal. But his father had denied him further magical training unless he was within the manor household. The bastard had even gone so far as to threaten his allowance when Hubert had attempted to find his own tutor. He’d eventually relented, coming to the manor only when certain his father had business elsewhere. By whatever means necessary, the marquis had fought to keep what little control over his son he could.

But that had been before. Now, as far as everyone but Hubert was concerned, he was good as chattel. His father had every right in the world to keep him here in the manor forever or marry him off to anyone he pleased.

Yes, there was no doubt in his mind that Arundel would gladly take any opportunity that arose to control the princess. Even if it meant tying himself in matrimony to an omega nearly twenty years his junior.

. . .

Although, Hubert thought twisting his hands in the sheets, Arundel hadn’t seemed completely immune to his new status. On the contrary, from the way the man had crowded him, he’d clearly had some interest. He recalled the way the alpha’s nostrils had flared when he’d taken in the obvious pheromones. And when he’d pressed in closer, the heat had seemed to blaze, his body taking notice of the alpha’s presence.

. . .

He shot up from bed, heart racing, stomach sick as a gush of slick came from between his legs, his cock twitching in interest as well. Even the thought of _Arundel_ of all people had him reacting like a willing whore!

He stifled a moan on the back of his hand, teeth biting into the flesh hard enough to hurt. He refused to let his traitorous body have its way and pressed his legs together to stifle the ache. It pulsed and throbbed, yet he clenched his fist and rode it out. Once it had finally passed, he rose stiffly-shamefully-, yanked on his robe and lit a candle.

_If I cannot sleep through this or ignore it, I will make better use of my time elsewhere._

Hand shaking, he yanked the door open and made his way down into the dark manor to do just that.

* * *

When Gerta finally found him in the library, the sun had just begun to rise through the window and his candle had long ago melted into a stub. He was in the back, in the section where his father kept the major arcana tomes chained and locked to pulpits. It was one of the more out of the way corners of the library, and where he spent many of his nights in the manor. The scent of magic might have turned his stomach, but the scent of the tomes that held magic only served to comfort. And no matter how much he hated his father, he’d always been grateful for the man’s good taste in book collecting.

He sat at a desk by the window, a pile of unassuming books off to one side, a single heavy tome to the other. When she approached, face flush with bewilderment, he was halfway through skimming one of the more verbose titles. "An Encyclopedia of Etiquette, as Relating to the Omegan Personage and the Matter of Societal Propriety." Really a treat, that one.

She looked as though she had just run half-mad through the manor, and was struggling to catch her breath.

“You failed to tell me the significance of covering one’s neck,” he said evenly.

“You shouldn’t be here, you should be in your room,” she managed between pants.

Hubert flexed his shoulders, wincing at the built-up tension there, and pointed to an article in the book. “Right here it cautions that an unmated omega should never go without a covering, especially not in the presence of an alpha.”

She held a hand to his forehead, found it an acceptable amount of warm and sweaty, and wiped it on the front of her dress-robe.

“Where did you get that bruise?” She asked, gentle fingers reaching out once more to probe his cheek. He pulled his head back but otherwise ignored her.

“Apparently, to keep one’s neck bared before an alpha is akin to an _invitation._ A very improper thing indeed,” he muttered, remembering with equal parts amusement and horror the comments that Arundel had made about it. He had made a fool of himself in front of the regent after all.

“How do you feel?”

He flipped through the pages back to the point where he had left off. He’d filled three-fourths of his personal journal over the night. He’d had much to learn. Despite having gone years surrounded by omegas at every level, he knew a surprisingly small amount about the protocols, never having thought them useful. Though now it was essential.

“Fine,” he said curtly. “Considering, I am currently in the thrall of oestrus and haven’t slept in twenty-four hours, I am just _fine._ ”

“It’s funny, between your subdued scent and your temperature, I’d almost say your heat has broken.” She sounded awed. “You shouldn’t be able to concentrate on much of anything, but here you are doing homework.”

“I gather that my ability to concentrate on anything other than the carnal is anomalous?”

She snorted. “It’s downright miraculous. But, it’s not entirely unheard of in late presenting male omegas, just uncommon. . . Although,” she pulled a small brown bag from her pocket. “I’d planned to give you these before you started, but it seems you aren’t in need of them.”

He gazed at the bag in her hand. “And that would be?”

“Suppressants. A decoction of medicinal herbs and oils, coagulated into pills. They’re meant to be taken before the onset of a heat, to subdue the libido and pheromones.”

He made a beckoning motion and she chuckled, passing them over. When he undid the drawstring, the smell hit his nose like a mixture of earth and stale piss.

“They’re no lemon drops, but they’ll do the job. They should be taken, twice a day before, during and following your heat. You’ll be able to predict the next one, trust me.”

They smelled awful, looked like rodent droppings, and stuck together just like shit too. Despite all that, the thought of killing the ache between his legs had him swallowing the pills dry. They tasted as awful as anything, the noxious flavor staying in his mouth even after they were gone.

He tucked the bag into an inner pocket and settled back into his studies. Gerta pulled a chair from a nearby desk and sat down, peering over his books.

They sat in silence for several minutes, Hubert doing his best to concentrate on the book of manners with the confining feeling of the doctor watching just over his shoulder. The sensation of being watched so blatantly made him feel itchy and even more restless than he had the previous night.

What she could gain by aggravating him so, he had no idea. As he was just getting into the text once more, she reached out to grab for the large tome. He nearly knocked his inkwell over in an effort to get it out of her reach.

“What is-”

“Don’t touch that,” he snapped and placed it on a nearby shelf just out of reach. “You told me you didn’t much care for the arts so I’ll forgive your ignorance, doctor. It is a grimoire. A personal account of a mage’s career and filled with invented spells. They’re often . . . Volatile, in the wrong hands.”

“I was only going to flip through it, I wasn’t about to recite any random spells,” she said, her wrinkled face pensive. She sounded slightly put out.

He scoffed. “Most grimoires aren’t written in the modern tongue, but even so, they don’t need to be read in order to surprise the unwary.” He held his stinging hand out for her inspection.

The palm of that hand had gone red just from touching the grimoire without gloves. "Tharja’s Wanderings." A black mage from the seventh century who had possessed a penchant for nasty curses. Every copy of her grimoire ever printed had their own unique curse. The one his father owned carried only a minor burn-inflicting jinx. Rather a rare find, considering it was more likely than not to come across a copy that could do substantially worse.

The doctor inspected his scalded hand and shook her head. “I’ve never understood why anyone would want to study something like this.”

“The pursuit of knowledge? Power? It doesn’t matter _why_. I’ve studied the arts of Reason nearly my entire life and never heard of a single, indisputable case of an omega being a mage of any kind. It’s been the subject of much debate, however, that the black mage who wrote this grimoire was an omega.”

“Hubert. . .” The old woman began, her voice thick with tenderness. He turned back to his etiquette study, determined not to be distracted any longer.

“It’s not a matter of sentiment,” he sneered, “omega or not, I _will_ practice the arts again. It is what I am good at. It is my right.” _And my duty to Lady Edelgard._ He flipped the book open to the chapter about courtship, and braced himself to read something he knew was about to give him a headache.

They sat in silence for another uncomfortable couple of minutes. Hubert reading over the verbose set instructions for a life that was now his duty to learn, Gerta sitting just behind him still as a watching owl.

Gerta cleared her throat and he rolled his eyes so hard his temple pulsed.

“You know, I have some books that would do a much better job of explaining the, well, _'rules of conduct between the omegan personage and a prospective alpha suitor,'_ ” Gerta said, with a tone he’d almost categorize as mischievous. He leveled her with an even stare and closed the book, expectant. She was close to getting on his nerves but, anything would have been better than reading more convoluted, overwrought descriptions of the _“delicate and wonderful intricacies of omegan propriety.”_

“Really?”

The good doctor waggled her eyebrows.

“Really.”

* * *

Once she’d left, he’d finished skimming the book on etiquette. Disappointed with the results of his studying but satisfied that he had all the resources the library could give, he gave up. When he returned to his room, the throbbing in his head pulled him like a magnet toward his rumpled bed where he’d finally collapsed into a deep sleep.

When he woke up, it was with the rising of the sun. Again. He had slept for a whole day, and no one had come to call on him. Sitting up in bed in the dark, feeling like the risen dead, Hubert was thankful for one thing above all. The ache had gone. It was with a smile that he lit his lamp and went to the materials he’d compiled on his desk, ready to study more. There was a new addition to the study materials.

Gerta's books.

She’d had the stack of them brought to his room while he slept, wrapped discreetly in a satin bag as though they were as volatile as any grimoire. He unwrapped it with a disbelieving chuckle as he was met with a book jacket depicting two disheveled men locked in a furious embrace. Flipping through the rest of the pile revealed more of the same.

Romance novels, salacious ones by the look of them.

Amusing, but he hardly saw the merit in them. If anything, they were more of an embarrassment than a boon. He’d always read widely and often, but never really found the appeal in fiction or poetry-sentimental drivel, all of it. Regardless, he vowed to read at least one; Gerta had not steered him wrong yet. The suppressants had worked, so why not her idea of study material? In any case, he was willing to read anything about the life of an omega.

In the days that followed his first heat, he’d read through most everything in the manor’s library pertaining to second genders and etiquette. He’d already come to peace with the fact that his status as heir had ceased. But he had not counted on the sheer number of constraints that came with his new status.

_It is most improper to walk about in the presence of an unrelated alpha, alone._

_Nullifying agents must be worn about the neck, wrists and groin lest the scents of one’s glands present a temptation to an alpha-_

_Prospective suitors must be greeted with a slight tilt of the neck, to indicate-_

Most of the onus of “propriety” was placed on the omega party, as though without caution, they might become beguiling whores at any given moment. How irritating it was, that to bare the neck was both an expectation and a sign of the most licentious sinfulness. It seemed to him that these guides were all unjustifiably prurient in nature as well; _he_ had not become a quivering mass of insatiable lust as they insisted he would.

The painted pair of lovers on the cover of the topmost novel, “The Prince’s Bastard Mate,” looked quite insatiable however, any pretense of propriety lost along with most of their clothing. . .

_Hmm._

Hubert slipped the novel into his robe just beside the commentarius. He rested a finger on the diary, spreading its pages slightly, but to his dismay found nothing new. Lady Edelgard had still not written him back since he’d sent her his news. It was troubling to say the least, but he would be patient as she asked, and wouldn’t hound her with needless messages until her reply came.

In the meantime, he would busy himself with training. Or rather, retraining.

Since his heat had passed, and the scent of it had finally dispelled, he was free to walk around the manor at his leisure. Every pertinent book on etiquette had been skimmed for information, and his perusal of "Tharja’s Wanderings" had not offered anything beyond several highly useful curses. As it was, Hubert currently had only one option when it came to resuming his magical training.

Observation.

* * *

It was dawn and the manor was only just beginning to awake. Only the birds and the household staff were awake it seemed. Several servants gawked in curiosity as he made his way down into the heart of the manor, freshly washed and robed in his favorite cloak and gloves.

The instant Hubert entered the courtyard, both of his brothers stopped their quiet chattering to stare open-mouthed at him. He sat at the bench nearest to the archway, crossed his legs and pulled out “The Prince’s Bastard Mate.” He made theatre of turning the pages, then stopped at the first chapter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the pair of them shift uncomfortably.

Edmund ventured closer, toeing the ground with his boot, looking as though he had something to say. Hubert let his eyes wander away from the novel slowly, as though reluctant to be torn from it.

“. . .Yes?”

“Father told us not to talk to you.”

_Well, then why are you talking to me, you incomprehensible little-_

Edmund was fifteen this year, already possessed of both the von Vestra height and bearing, yet none of the mental acumen necessary in a minister of the Imperial household. Let alone, the right hand of Lady Edelgard.

_Father must be so proud._

“We don’t have to talk,” Hubert said slowly, keeping his tone patient. “I wish only to read and observe my brothers at their training. And maybe, if you don’t tell father, I could even give the two of you some guidance.”

Luis had come over, hands clutched around a novice’s tome, his baby-fat face screwed up in what Hubert would generously have called suspicion.

Hubert had been six when he’d officially become Lady Edelgard’s servant and had learned every manner of subject from countless tutors. He’d trained in the arts of fencing, Reason, diplomacy and much more. There had even once been a time where he’d stayed glued to his father’s side to observe him at his duties in the palace, awestruck and full of childish pride. That had been years and years ago, when there had been an _actual_ Imperial Household to be minister of. . .

Edmund and Luis had been well educated as any noble child would be expected to, but nowhere as rigorously as Hubert had been. They’d both a lot of catching up to do. Did they appreciate the opportunity they’d been given? Did Edmund even fully understand what was expected of him? Did Hubert really care if he did?

“I assure you everything I’ve learned, you will as well. It could only help to have a second perspective.”

They exchanged one stupid, cow-eyed look between the two of them, before Luis spoke up.

“Vasquez said not to listen to anyone but him about magic.”

“Yeah,” Edmund began, voice soft. He avoided Hubert’s gaze almost guiltily. “Omegas are unable to handle magic . . . Their bodies are too weak.”

Hubert leant back against the bench, unaware until that point that he’d been leaning in at all.

He looked between them, with their big confused stares and their gangly limbs--had he ever looked so awkward?-- and realized, that he’d never really had the chance to be their brother. Not in a meaningful way, in any case. He’d been the heir, all alone in a world far removed from theirs. They were closer to one another in a way he’d never be to either of them.

No use playing the sympathetic big brother then, is there?

“I will keep my opinions to myself then, and merely watch. No one said anything about _watching_ did they?”

They both shook their heads, almost unified by their shared confusion.

“Then don’t mind me,” he said primly, already turning back to his novel. “Go and study your tome. If you haven’t figured it out already, Vasquez is hard to please.”

He focused again on the first page, trying to wrap his mind around the text, willing the pair of them to leave him be. He noticed they both lingered a second longer, seemingly undecided on what they should do. In the end, they went back to their corner of the courtyard and opened the tome between them.

Let them train alone then. He had done so for years, no brothers needed. Lady Edelgard depended upon him as friend and confidant and that was all that truly mattered.

As he read, he got comfortable. Yet not so comfortable he didn’t keep one eye open for Vasquez. He was loathe to admit it, but the man had always made him tense. Years of intense training, coupled with the man’s short temper and theatrics had given Hubert an almost instinctual dislike of him.

He absently fished out a cloth and a small pot from one of his pockets and settled them to the side. In preparation, he’d made his own version of the menthol based unguent Gerta had given him. He’d hoped mixing a stronger concentration of it would nullify scents at closer range, but he would find out for certain once Vasquez arrived.

It wasn’t a long wait. He’d only gotten several pages in, before the man swept into the courtyard like an overgrown, self-important bat.

He looked up and caught his former instructors gaze. It lasted only an instant, his eyes passing Hubert as though to look over the courtyard itself. But the surprise had been plain in his beady eyes. Vasquez had probably expected he’d never have to see him again, let alone deal with him.

Hubert smirked. _Think again._

Vasquez stood before his students a moment before they noticed him and scrambled to attention, hastily dropping the tome to the side.

“I assume you have solved the equations I assigned?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Very good. This morning we will begin applying the formulas we learned in the last lesson to our movements. Your success with the spell will depend on the accuracy of your solutions.”

So they were still learning basic theorems. Theorems had always come easy for him; theorems involved math. Math was a puzzle that could be solved by pure logic, and he had never been one to turn down a good puzzle.

He put his book down and carefully smeared his unguent on the cloth, watching them.

Vasquez had turned his back to the bench then, showing them formations that Hubert had gone over a thousand times. Fire. A simple enough set of motions and theorems, but from the way both of his brothers clumsily swayed through them, neither seemed to have actually learned them. Nothing magical came of their movements except disappointment. There was no power in the motions without a basic understanding of the formulas behind them.

“No! That is all wrong, all wrong! Like this-”

Hubert had just begun to fold the cloth over before Vasquez aimed in his direction, and shot a blast of Fire.

The light was blinding. The heat, nigh unbearable so close. His eyes watered, his skin burnt and panic struck him; for one stupefying second, he thought it would engulf him. The curling flames seemed to pull all the oxygen straight from the air as it blazed past him, before finally dissipating into brilliant blue smoke.

He’d been just barely able to get the cloth over his nose, but he’d been a second too late. The smell of not only the burning fireball, but the oppressive odor of magic itself, had him coughing noisily into the cloth.

When he finally caught his breath and looked back up, the three of them were staring. Vasquez caught his former student’s gaze and this time, _he_ smirked.

“Perhaps,” he began, “we should restrict our lesson to movements only. We wouldn’t want to offend our _delicate_ audience’s constitution.”

He turned his back to Hubert then, and began to go over the movements in pain-staking, stupidly slow detail. This time they had no trouble keeping up, but the confusion on their faces had only grown more evident with Vasquez’s little episode. It was clear they still had no clue what they were doing, were too scared to ask questions, and their teacher’s growing impatience was not doing anything but making it worse.

“The two of you must take me for a fool!” He advanced on them, the both of them flinching when he snatched the tome they’d been using from the ground. He tore through it until reaching a page and apparently his conclusion. “You did not solve the problems I assigned at all, did you?” He growled.

“W-we tried-”

“We did them all several times, but it made no sense!”

“Inadequate little halfwits!” The man exploded, throwing the tome back to the dirt.

“Perhaps,” Hubert retorted, “You should explain the formulas better, instead of berating them.”

Hubert smiled behind his cloth as he watched Vasquez’s back tense, his knuckles going visibly white with the pressure of his fists.

“If you ask me, it seems the inadequacy was on your part, _dear_ teacher.” He’d never dared speak his mind to the man before, too involved in his education to dare trip thin wire of Vasquez’s patience. Sometimes all he had to do was breathe to get the man going. But oh, how he’d wanted to and now he had the upper hand. "You can't expect them to pick up what you can barely explain."

_You made a convincing show, but you can’t touch me now. Hit me, curse me, hell- you can barely talk to me without crossing the line. So you think you can take your little tantrums out on them, you miserable bastard? I think not. Who is the delicate one now?_

For the rest of the lesson, Vasquez was noticeably quieter. He’d deflated, all the hot air gone from him with Hubert’s taunting. It didn’t much improve his patience, he was terse and demeaning, but at least he’d gone over the problems again.

Hubert spent the rest of that time half watching, half reading his novel. Before he knew it, he was five chapters in and both Edmund and Luis seemed to have finally understood the formula for Fire.

* * *

The next morning, he awoke at dawn to go observe once more. When he opened his door however, he was greeted by the sight of his father’s severely frowning face. It took a second to control the shock he felt at seeing him looming there, waiting for him.

“Good morning, Hubert. I trust you had a good night’s rest?”

“Father. I did in fact.” He stepped aside as his father strode in, taking in the orderly room well lit by the wide open curtains. He moved over to Hubert’s desk.

“No more inappropriately timed study sessions?” He mused, perusing the stack of etiquette books.

Hubert winced at that. But really, he thought, he had no one to blame but himself for being so absentminded. The blasted heat had made him careless and he vowed not to be so negligent in the future.

“No,” he said finally. “I believe I’ve gotten all the information I need between the first session and Dr. Von Brandt’s careful tutelage.”

“Very good. Then maybe, when your cycle comes around again you will have the good sense to stay confined?” The marquis cocked his eyebrow, questioning.

“. . .Yes.”

“I don’t think you’ve quite realized it, but being under my roof affords you a certain protection from unwanted attention,” he said, flipping through a book. “If, however, you were to do such a careless thing elsewhere, I cannot guarantee the same. Do you understand?"

“Plainly.” He had no need for protection; any overly friendly alpha would get the sharp end of his dagger in their neck. “Yet, the doctor and I have found-”

He held one large, ringed hand up for silence and Hubert swallowed his words.

“What you and the doctor have found, is between you and the doctor. . . Now that I know you understand and have been taking your new duty seriously with study, I am satisfied that you are ready.”

“I beg pardon, but ready for what?” A part of him was afraid of whatever point his father was coming to, another part wanted to snap at him to get to it already. He wisely held his tongue.

“Princess Edelgard has requested that she sponsor you in the capital. I have accepted the offer. Duke Aegir has graciously agreed that Ferdinand will meet with you in the capital.”

His head was spinning. Lady Edelgard had requested to sponsor him? In Enbarr? He itched to grab for the commentarius, to see if she’d sent anything to him. Surely there would be something waiting for him.

But sponsorship; he hadn’t even thought of that. His lady was ever resourceful. Sponsorship would mean he’d be under the protection of a benefactor whose responsibility it would be to “present” him to society. It was usually something reserved for the omega child of a provincial family or minor noble’s beta offspring with few prospects. In this case, the omega son of a major house, already one prominent suitor to his name, being sponsored by the imperial princess herself? It couldn't be an order but his father would be seen as the empire’s biggest fool were he to turn down the offer.

_You’ve made yourself a traitor to the Emperor, yet your pride compels you to obey the whims of his daughter. How this must vex you, father._

He schooled himself in an effort to hide his immense amusement.

“Well? What do you think about this development? Does it _suit_ you?” Startled at the goading tone, he looked up. Something in his father’s dour face told him he _knew._

“It suits me very well, father. The thought of meeting my future husband in a familiar setting is pleasing.” This answer seemed to content the marquis, his face slackening. “I’m also glad that I get the opportunity to thank Lady Edelgard in person, for all that she has done for me.”

“Very commendable, though I trust I need not remind you of your duties. You are no longer her retainer, merely her subject. I don’t want to hear that you’ve been spending any more time with her than is required by sponsorship protocol. She is the future Emperor and an alpha, and you will soon be betrothed. It would be improper.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m glad to hear it. You leave for the capital in a couple of days. Dr. Von Brandt will accompany you, as your chaperone. I will be coming within the month to check in with you.”

“Of course.”

The marquis made a move toward the door but stopped short, hand on the jamb. “In the meantime, Vasquez has requested you stay away from the courtyard. The man is livid. Apparently, you made yourself something of a nuisance yesterday. Care to let me know why?”

Ah. He had wondered when that would come up. In fact, he had thought it would be the first thing his father would touch upon. Save the best for last, didn't he?

“I was merely curious as to how my brothers were faring in their training.”

Marquis von Vestra eyed his son. “I trust your curiosity has been satisfied?”

“Yes. He's as suitably _merciless_ with them as he was with me. But, I will refrain from interfering any further.”

“Excellent. Then I will leave you to your studies.” The marquis ignored Hubert's comment, as he had ignored Vasquez treatment of his son for years. _"Magic is not the friend of a soft heart, it is the tool of a hard heart. I hope you will remember this Hubert,"_ he had said once, years ago when Hubert had complained. He hadn't done so since and had borne the treatment with proud stoicism and the promise that one day, Vasquez would be taken to task for his temper.

Marquis von Vestra turned and left, closing the door behind him. The second the latch turned, Hubert already had the commentarius in hand.

* * *

_Hubert,_

_I apologize that I was not able to write you sooner. I have been occupied by an important matter which I will disclose to you in person. It may very well just be my paranoia, and I trust that your spell-work is sound, but this matter is sensitive and I cannot bring myself to divulge it in writing. It’s as though the act of writing it will make it sound like a fantasy, as though I’m writing tales. I know it sounds silly, but please trust me._

_On the subject of my uncle, this is distressing. If I had known that he had designs on you, I would not have set my particular plan in motion so soon. I have petitioned your father, asking that I be allowed to sponsor you in Enbarr. It is my right and duty as your former master to afford you this opportunity to be seen by high society. It should also give you the upper hand when meeting with von Aegir; you will be able to choose the when and where. It would be seen as impolitic for your father to refuse me, but it took substantial negotiating just to get him to agree. I have a feeling now, that my uncle’s interest had something to do with it. Whatever his purpose, he can’t do much if you’re under my protection and being courted by someone like von Aegir ._

_On that note, there are obviously worse suitors for your father to have picked. I remember Ferdinand from before. He was proper, polite, maybe a bit over eager. I don’t imagine he’s changed all that much. If anything, your father choosing him for your suitor was what gave me the idea for the sponsorship; Ferdinand is likely the type to respect propriety._

_Hubert, I hope you are well and that you are adjusting to your new status. I look forward to seeing you again very soon, we have much to discuss. I’ve missed you, and your counsel._

_El_

He read the message several times over, reveling in her clever scheme. It was the third time when it finally began to fade, that he realized he might want to reply. Smirking, he picked up his pen and wrote it.

_My Lady, there is no need to apologize. I understand your time is valuable, your duties many. I was merely worried for you; we have not spent so much time apart in years. But no longer. I leave for Enbarr within the next couple of days. I thank you, my lady for your ingenuity. Let us say, my father was not pleased at being made a fool of. Ridiculous, considering the man goes out of his way to do it to himself._

_I will make an effort to strengthen the spells on the commentarius. I have a suspicion that they might even need to be reworked completely, considering I have only just received your previous message on the same day he has bothered to inform me of your request. Either you are adept at predicting my father’s whims to the minute, or the commentarius might be out of synchronicity. As for my magic, the scent of spell-work itself still bothers me. I have a couple of theories, however, which I will explore further. Not to worry, I will have my powers back, and at your disposal before long._

_Polite, proper, respectable; it doesn’t really matter to me. He is the spawn of that usurper. Whatever his facade, he’s likely just as self-serving and porcine as his father underneath. I suppose I will see for certain once we’ve actually had our meeting. I do wonder, how should I approach it? I have half a mind to act like a simpleton; play dumb, be as dull as humanly possible, spill tea in his lap for the hell of it. . . I jest of course. I will wait until I can see you, and together we shall decide the best course of action._

_I thank you again for your brilliance._

_I miss you as well, Lady Edelgard. Soon we will be together once more._

_Your Faithful Servant, H._

* * *

The day he was to leave for Enbarr, Hubert went down to the garden and waited. The fragrance of the garden, sweet and heady as his own pheromones, nearly hid the stench of magic just beyond in the courtyard. Nearly, but he could withstand it without a cloth; he had timed this well enough that he would not have to wait long.

He stood beside the bushy pink boughs of a familiar smelling tree and watched the gates of the courtyard. Absently, he fingered the wide black choker at his neck; a gift from his father given to him the night before.

“From now on, you will wear this at all times, until it happens that your husband wishes otherwise,” he’d ordered and Hubert had said nothing, not trusting himself enough to speak without saying something _undue._

Like, _until the time comes that my husband wants to stick his teeth in my neck, you mean?_

It was smooth and made of a thick velvet that wouldn’t fade or bunch or move. A symbol of ownership. It irritated the skin there in a constant reminder of what he had lost, what he had become, what he would have to fight if he ever wanted to go back to what he’d been.

He forced his hand down at his side, already feeling angry with himself.

He would save it for one who deserved it.

Leaning into the tree, he looked about the garden with a skeptic eye. He certainly wouldn’t be missing any of this once he went away. He wouldn’t miss the damn smells of this place. He wouldn’t miss the taint of his father lingering in it like a pall over the name of Vestra. He wouldn’t miss his father, but that was a given. He wouldn’t-

A slight movement at the edge of his vision distracted him momentarily from his moping. A figure hidden behind a bush, but only just, watched him. Very obviously.

He didn’t have to guess at who. Blond hair, sepia apron, short stature. He pushed back from the tree.

“Oscar. The gardener, yes?” He drawled.

A soft gasp from behind the rustling bushes told him he’d guessed correctly and he smirked.

“You know, spies usually aim to stay hidden from their quarry. As a rule.”

The boy, obviously shook from being caught, shuffled forward, face bright red and downcast. He shook his head vehemently.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to spy! I only wanted to, hmm-” He trailed off, biting his lip with those too big teeth. He put one in mind of a nervous rabbit. What did that make Hubert then? A fox?

“You only wanted to what?”

The boy fiddled with his apron, unable to say anything or even look him in the eye.

He was waiting for something, that was for certain, but for what? An apology?

Hubert didn’t worry on it too hard, the second he heard his brothers at the mouth of the courtyard he turned to watch them go. They scurried off together looking harried and more than a little tired. He prepared to dismiss his interloper, but when he turned, the boy was already picking his way hurriedly past Hubert, keeping his reddened face down as he went.

“I’m sorry! Excuse me, young master!”

Hubert watched him go off in the same direction as his brothers, eyebrow cocked. Surely, he was missing something here, he thought, but couldn’t care less as he was out of time. Plus, it would be better if he had no witnesses.

* * *

The gate of the courtyard had just swung open. Vasquez, looking somewhat peeved as per usual, didn’t seem to notice his former student standing there until he walked nearly into him.

“Come to say farewell to your dear old instructor?” He near-growled, once he had gotten over his initial shock. Hands on his hips, he waited a beat for a response. Hubert said nothing, but merely stared him straight in the eye and allowed the man his piece.

“No? Or have you come to whine about daddy scolding you?” He smirked. “You thought you could mouth off with no repercussions, didn’t you? You thought because you are now of a fragile sort, you are to be coddled and kowtowed to? Well, you have a rude awakening in store for you boy.

“You have always been a cocksure little shit, thinking you are above me because you are a noble son,” he said as he crossed his brawny arms. “I wonder how you will be under an alpha.” He chuckled darkly, his voice lowered in pitch. “Will you still be so haughty with a knot in your hole?”

Hubert had prepared in advance this time. His cloth was pre-folded and smeared with the unguent so that when he pulled it out of his pocket, it fit perfectly over his nose and mouth and he immediately ceased smelling anything but a stinging coolness.

Vasquez, upon noticing this, seemed to take great offense. He puffed up, his face screwing up into a pinched rage, his nostrils flaring, dark brows creasing together.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“To dampen the scent,” Hubert said blithely. “A weak beta like you wouldn’t have noticed.”

"You insolent little bitch! I will have-”

Whatever he had been about to say was cut off in a gurgle. Hubert had gone through the formula in his mind, made the proper finger movements one-handed, and casted Miasma into a sucker-punch which he directed squarely into Vasquez’s stomach.

It was a weak spell-not meant to kill, only to incapacitate-but from the way the man dropped to the ground like so much useless filth, he’d guessed that he’d hit that sweet spot. The cretin would feel that poisonous roiling in his gut for days to come. How satisfying to think he would get a taste of what Hubert himself had gone through the past month.

He was pleased to note that properly prepared and timed, the unguent spared him from most of the scent of the black magic. He’d have to do further tests of course-stronger preparations versus weaker, black magic versus light- but that could come later when he had more time to experiment. For now, he’d only time enough for this sweet revenge before he had to leave.

“Perverse little man, I am above you.” Hubert gazed unimpressed down at the man groaning at his feet. With the toe of his boot, he nudged the man’s head around that he might relish his surprise, see his eyes rolled back and white with the pain of Miasma coursing through his body. “Cry to my father all you want, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to find you’ve threatened me. But know this: one day I will return here and it may be better for your health if you were _gone._ ”

And with that, he turned and left Vasquez squirming in the grass, and the garden, and the courtyard and all the manor behind him.

 _One day,_ he promised himself. _I will return and burn it all to the ground._

In the front yard, the servants had only just finished loading the carriage that would take him and Dr. Von Brandt to Enbarr. His father was there, waiting for him with a frown.

“You’ve certainly taken your time coming down.”

“I apologise father, I had forgotten something.”

“Well, it is better that you see to your business now. If all goes accordingly with the von Aegir heir, you will not be returning to Vestra Manor any time in the foreseeable future. If you are ready,” He said and motioned toward the carriage.

He boarded the carriage without another word and the coachman shut the door behind him. His father allowed it without a goodbye or even further admonishment about perceived future insults to the family name. How refreshing.

 _And you father,_ he thought as he watched his father through the carriage window. The marquis stood tall and stern and proud at the gate of his ill-begotten house, hands behind his back, face a stony mask. He was a figure that could be seen from far off down the road, growing smaller as the manor on the hill receded, but no less distinct against its stately walls. _You will burn along with it, for all the wrongs you’ve done Her. I promise you this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for reading (and being patient lol)!! Sorry this was mostly plot. Edelgard and Ferdinand are coming soon, I promise. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . No comment. Let the Hubert torture recommence!

Storm clouds had gathered above the countryside all along the road to Enbarr, roiling dark and heavy so that the carriage was slow going. It matched the state of his mind, uneasy and turbulent.

The doctor had graciously absorbed herself into a novel for the duration of the trip so that he was at leisure to think about what awaited him there.

In the palace, Lady Edelgard waited with news she could not trust to his spell-work. News to do with Lord Arundel, as always the perpetual cause of misery. His treachery had orchestrated the coup, decimated the royal family and his scheming kept her his complacent puppet. Whatever new mischief he had caused to make her ladyship so upset, Hubert was keen to be back at her side.

In the rain-streaked carriage window, he caught sight of his own glaring eyes and straightened in his seat. The change had not been kind to him. He raked a hand through the black waves, arranging it so it framed his face, and then tore himself from the window to stare at nothing in particular.

It would be interesting to hear from Arundel the reasons why he had chosen to make father an offer. He knew the purpose-- for mischief and malice, to make them both uneasy-- but what excuses would the bastard give? And what had he thought when he'd found the marquis had already initiated a courtship with von Aegir? And for that matter, what did have to say about lady Edelgard’s idea of sponsorship?

Hubert hoped it at least put a crimp in Arundel’s current machinations. It certainly had put a crimp in Hubert’s.

Just before his unfortunate presenting, he had been collecting information on a certain high seated church official just as he had done on countless other nobles and politicians. The bishop of St. Cichol's Cathedral, His _Excellency_ Maxillius of Enbarr. Previously, he'd gone into the usual places--seedy taverns, hidden alleyways, game halls of ill-repute, wherever loose-lipped unsavories congregated--and gained every piece of the blackest and vilest information he could find. To no surprise at all, it happened that the man had his hand in nearly every poisoned honey pot in the city and ties to noble conspirators. The only piece that remained was to find out exactly which conspirators those were.

He'd his contenders in mind for likely candidates, but he needed proof; records of wrongdoing that only an inside informant could procure. He might have just such an individual waiting for him within the old quarters of the city. He'd been too long away from his business for comfort and was eager to return to it.

Just before they’d reached the city, Gerta broke the silence. She put away her book and cleared her throat expectantly. When he went on ignoring her for several more minutes, fed up with the silence she rapped him several times on the knees lightly with her novel.

“Doctor,” he drawled, amused, and more than a little irritated. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Dr. Gerta von Brandt, supposedly the foremost expert in the empire on the subject of omegas, their physiology, and all-around general nuisance, smiled up at him from her seat, the lined skin around her blue eyes crinkling. 

“If I recall correctly, I am to be your chaperone about the capital. That is, according to your noble father.”

How could he forget? His father had likely intended her to be an agent of his, sent to hamper Hubert in his duties to Lady Edelgard and steer all his time towards a courtship of the von Aegir boy.

“You’ll be dogging my every step then? Report every action of mine back to him? Forgive me, but I can’t say I’m altogether looking forward to the prospect”

She snorted. “On the contrary. I couldn’t care less what you do in the capital and I want to be your chaperone about as much as I want a wart on my ass! I have an office and townhouse within the city, I’ll be leaving you there.”

Suspicious, he narrowed his eyes.

“He informed me you were to accompany me to the city. Did he not pay you enough to suit you?”

“He may or may not have added an extra sum to my dues for the purpose, but I’m no nursemaid or nanny. As far as I’m concerned, my job as your physician is over despite whatever your father may have _ordered_ me to do. You are an adult. As far as I’m concerned you are free to cavort with your princess all you like.”

He ignored the comment about “cavorting” and prodded her further.

“You understand my father is a very particular, very austere sort of man. I highly doubt he will be pleased to hear you’ve gone against his will.”

She gave a noise halfway between a scoff and a titter. "You mean the over-bearing alpha sort? Yes, I’ve known the type all my life and I don’t much care for them or their wills even now at my _advanced_ age.”

“Regardless, he is not the type to let such deceptions go unpunished. Do you understand that much?”

“Oh, I do. I just don’t care. I’ve already let the driver know beforehand he’s to make a special stop. It might have taken a bit of bribery on my end. At least the marquis’s influence extends _that_ far, as his servants go anyway. Hah!.”

Hubert regarded her with new interest. He'd had his suspicions about the doctor from the beginning. She’d been chatty from the first, but mostly about health when it concerned him and nothing overtly personal. Despite the fact she’d gone to plumpness with age, she’d fine features and an easy bearing, and given her name he'd surmised that she was of noble blood or at the very least had married into such stock.

But her attitude and general demeanor spoke of a background more base than anything. From his time in her company, he’d the feeling her upbringing had not fulfilled her in the way her profession had. An older omega, respected enough in her profession to catch the attention of the noble class and tolerated despite her crass and strange sensibilities. And though she was irritating, the doctor had been a good resource for him. He was almost disappointed to see her leave.

“Settled then," she slapped the book on her thigh, the noise loud enough that he was startled to find he'd been studying her profile with no little intensity. "When we reach the capital, I’ll be disembarking at my townhouse. It’s not too far from the Elite section of the city and the palace grounds so I trust you can find your way around. If it happens you do require a chaperone, I won’t be more than a couple of city blocks away from you. In the meantime, I will send your charming father all the messages he requires until he comes to check up on you. If he does take issue with it, he can very well come and watch you himself.”

“If you don’t mind my asking Doctor, exactly why are you prepared to do this?”

“Prepared nothing. As I’ve said, I’ve done what was asked of me as a physician. You’re still alive and perfectly fit, I see no more reason for me to linger.”

“ . . . Why Dr. Von Brandt, how you flatter me with your concern.”

The old doctor smiled. “Hubert, didn’t I say you could call me Gerta?”

“And didn’t I tell you not to be so familiar?” He snarked back, the bite not completely in him.

She laughed then, the sound more cackle than anything, sounding like an upset crow.

“You’ll keep yourself out of trouble, won’t you Hubert?”

“No need to worry on my account doctor," he turned and addressed his reflection. In the distance, the capital city had begun to loom out of the darkness. The road to Enbarr was dotted sporadically with farms and small towns, but on the edge of civilization, the buildings crowded together closer, throngs of people more numerous even in the wet and dark of the evening. Hubert watched them sharp-eyed as the carriage passed further through the city streets, his mind already wandering back to all the duties that awaited. "I can handle myself.”

* * *

And so he’d arrived alone, his carriage pulling up to the palace gates just as the ominous clouds above finally let loose their torrents. The heavy rain fogged off the stonework of the palace's grand front yard with prejudice, creating the illusion that the palace had sprung from clouds and mist. High on the cliffside overlooking the Enbarr harbor the great palace lorded, an imposing bastion of weather-stained alabaster and marble. It had always looked to be carved from the cliff upon which it'd been set, as shining a beacon as any lighthouse, and in the gloom of the rainy night, it fairly glowed just as well.

The wide yard was well maintained and surrounded by massive stone walls drowned in creeping ivies and lined by stately trees and various guard posts and outbuildings. The edifice itself was four stories high, contained upwards of two hundred rooms, and was adorned with mobs of hideous grotesques and forests of columns. For all that grandeur it was a fortress foremost, though it had not seen battle in centuries. 

A fortress peering down through time and fog and salted wind over the city, as a commanding emperor down upon her subjects.

_Home._

Through the condensation on the window, he could make out the double doors and the servants that passed through them to wait on him and port his luggage away. The metal lamp-posts were lit, illuminating the front steps and setting off a white glowing mist everywhere the light touched. A coachman opened the door and held out a hand. Confused for a moment, he glared at the offending appendage before the man and he finally came to a realization. Hubert ignored the proffered hand and the man thankfully pulled away and instead opened an umbrella for his convenience.

When he ascended the grand stairs leading into the palace, he was dismayed to find that his welcome party consisted of only one.

“Good evening, Lord Arundel.”

Lord Arundel stood at the top of the stairs, smiling serenely. When Hubert approached and gave the slight necessary bow of acknowledgment, the count came in close, his hand settling on Hubert’s back and staying there as they entered into the palace’s grand vestibule.

Hubert was pleased to note now that the scent of him was not nearly so overbearing and the touch did little more than unnerve. The memory of his heat still lingered unpleasantly in his mind, how his stupid body had twisted at the thought of this alpha and how he had burned with hatred as well as base lust. 

Now would be different. Now he knew better and could think clearer; now he was more well equipped to deal with this odious man and any other alpha that chose to impose themselves.

“How lovely it is to see you again so soon young Hubert, and you our guest. I hope the journey did not leave you overtired?”

Hubert stepped away as subtly as he could, feeling the hand fall away from his back. The man's expression did not change, but he fancied he could read irritation in the lined face. Over his shoulder, he watched the servants carry his luggage in, feigning interest in the procession to better hide his amusement.

"Not terribly," he replied, all but leading the man into the palace, Arundel just at his elbow, waiting like a stalking cat.

"Very good. Then I trust you have an appetite? We will be rejoining for dinner within the hour and I've heard it will be a braised duck, freshly procured. I have a new vintage I am excited to partake in as well."

Hubert allowed the man to prattle a moment and stood staring down the length of the main hall. This late in the day, the only inhabitants of the palace were the pair of them and the veritable army of servants and guards which stood posted at every major doorway. A maid took his wet cloak, and another handed him a towel. He was dry when he finally turned to the count who had stopped talking and was waiting idly by.

"Might I inquire as to where Lady Edelgard, lord Arundel? I would have liked to have met her at the door as well."

Something like satisfaction crossed the man’s features, his face an overall mask of apologetic gentility. "I'm afraid she is preoccupied for the moment and will not be available until dinner. I hope you can make do with my company until then?”

_As though I have much of a choice._

“I suppose I will manage somehow,” he admitted flatly and Arundel chuckled, the sound reverberating in the cavernous foyer.

"How gracious of you to carry on with such a paltry substitute. I pray I am not a complete disappointment. But before anything else, allow me a little _diversion._ It won’t keep us long. Shall we?" 

A brocade adorned elbow was offered and he took the gesture in hand this time. Arundel clasped his hand to his own, his side just barely brushing against Hubert's and thus he was trapped. He allowed the man to lead him into the palace interior, ignoring the unease that had settled in his gut the minute Arundel's hand touched him. Arundel would not take him by surprise that night. He was home now, he knew every hidden passage and secret doorway, knew the quickest way to escape from the palace into the busy streets of the city, and could hold his own against the man if need be, alpha or not. Wherever the man took him, whatever _diversion_ he thought to surprise him with, he would be on his guard. As he had told the good doctor, he could handle himself.

* * *

But Arundel led him not to the dungeons, nor certain death or horrors unknown, but inward toward the palace's center and made no further demands of him beyond his presence and a smattering of idle talk. 

"How are you finding yourself these days Hubert?" He asked. Hubert observed him from the corner of his eye, his placid face staring ahead as he moved through the opulent splendor of the palace halls, confident and looking for all the world as though he owned them. Though as the state of things sat, he practically did own in all but name.

"Busy. I have undertaken a great deal of study lately. I have so many new expectations, duties. There is much to learn."

"Too true. It had to have been something of a shock, to find yourself so changed. But, as I said when we took our little walk around your father's house, I am more than certain that you will take to it well. You are a very capable young man." He could feel Arundel's eyes upon him then, nearly as heavy as his hand on Hubert’s. "And I see you have made vast improvements to your bearing as a result. You hold yourself very well."

He might have imagined Arundel's eyes lingered on the collar about his neck but ignored it. 

"Lord Arundel?" He asked after the man had gone silent a moment.

"Yes?"

"I must confess, I had the most shock when my father mentioned to me that you made an offer for my hand. I had not known you felt so strongly towards me." The large hand squeezed his own, and that placid face turned on him, smiling slightly.

"Ah, yes. That," he said, as though it'd been nothing more than a paltry whim, a small something that had all but passed from his mind until Hubert had dared to even bring it up. "I cannot explain at the moment, but I promise all will become clear by the end of the night. ”

Of all places within the vast and sprawling palace, they had arrived at the grand entrance of the ballroom where a servant stood waiting patiently to open the door for them.

Beyond the door, the room was dark and within he could hear, not the music of a dance or the din of excited voices, but the rancorous screech of metal on metal. And then, an unmistakable shout of pain echoed out from the dimly lit cavernous hall. A battle? He looked searchingly at Arundel but the man only held out a hand, gesturing for Hubert to lead them in. 

When he did so, he found himself staring at a moving mass of shining armor and glinting steel in the center of the great ballroom. Several bodies moved in a tight circle in the center of the room. In the torchlight, it was hard to make out exactly what it was that was happening, but he was so caught up by it, that he hardly noticed Arundel had come up from behind him to whisper in his ear. "Training."

Hubert kept himself from reacting. Everything Arundel did, he did to get a reaction; Hubert would leave him bereft of such satisfaction if he could manage it. Arundel continued, unperturbed. "They are a very special person, the one I'd like you to meet in fact. Shall we?" He motioned for the stairs that led up to the second floor and balconies meant for the imperial family and their guests during actual state functions.

On the second floor, overlooking the whole room from the best angle, was the imperial box. A lushly carpeted and red curtained section meant only for the emperor and personal guests. The imperial box was better lit than the ballroom as a whole, the lanterns lighting the path as they climbed and from the height of the imperial box, he could better make out the scene below.

Arundel took a seat in the grand chair meant for the emperor himself--no subtlety there--and Hubert was forced to take the seat just to his left, the seat meant for a consort. No subtlety there either.

Sitting as far to the left as he could manage, Hubert observed the din below with curiosity. 

A group of armored knights, four of them all brandishing swords, circled one lone combatant. Slightly built and dressed in a dark cloak, and therefore hardly visible in the dark of the ballroom, the combatant had been easy to miss at first. The only thing he could discern besides the glowing axe was their white composed face. A mask, as it turned out, the features of which were hard to make out in the blur. They wielded a strangely shaped axe, using it to clear the circle in a wide-sweeping arc, the knights bolting out of its path just in time.

It seemed whoever this was, they were capable. They did not seem too overwhelmed or overtaxed, despite being pitted against four larger and better-equipped knights. And the knights for their part stalked carefully around their opponent.

"What do you think?" Arundel asked. A clatter resounded below; the lone combatant had managed to disarm one, the knight just barely managing to keep from tottering over as his sword flew several feet.

"This is who you would like me to meet?" Hubert asked quietly.

"Mm." Arundel assented. "They have been my project of late."

"A talented fighter," Hubert admitted.

"They've much to learn still, just as you do Hubert. Much to learn not only about combat but about the order of the world and one's place in it. . ." He trailed off, leaning over the edge of his seat, balancing his weight on an elbow to better peer over the balustrade. Hubert watched him as he looked over, noting the growing frustration souring his brow. He turned back to the action to find that the combatant had their axe raised above their head and was preparing to bring it down on the blade of one of the knights as they swung.

It was a feint. When the knight made to move out of the way, the combatant countered by swinging the axe to the opposite side, smacking the knight neatly in the side with the flat of the weapon and knocking him clean off his feet. The knight flew with a clamour and landed some distance away where he lay motionless, seemingly unable to rise again.

"Hold!" Arundel raised a hand and called out, his deep voice commanding in the sudden silence. Like magic, with the order of the count, all combatants still standing froze in place. 

"To formation, now," Arundel called out once more, voice lower this time, but no less commanding. The knights all moved closer to where they could be seen by the occupants of the imperial box in a patient line, a single fist each to their armored breasts in a show of deference. The one that had been flung to his back, laid where he’d been thrown, his quiet groaning suddenly very obvious in the silence that remained.

Arundel’s so-called “project” stood near him, axe held out in both hands with the head held aloft.

"Come forward." Arundel made a motion, and the opponent stepped forward, passed the line of knights, and stood just below the imperial box, in the light where Hubert could better make out their features. Indeed it was a mask; he could make out the porcelain white and impassive features accentuated with stark red. Their black hooded cloak obscured anything else about them beyond the fact that they were slight and short, coming only to the chest of even the shortest knight.

The most interesting thing he noticed was the axe. He didn’t know much of axes, but it hadn’t seemed ordinary to him. Though it had worked as well as any and glittered in the dim light of the ball-room all the same. 

But as the action had ceased, he noted its strange qualities. A long handle ended in the most peculiar blade he had ever seen. The only thing he could compare it to would be a spined conch, like the kind found on the coastal beaches nearby.

"Our special guest has arrived," he glanced sidelong at Hubert who was struck by the strangeness of it all. "Perhaps you can better showcase how your training has been proceeding now that you have an audience? Pray, do not disappoint us."

They gave a nod and curiously, he noted the mask move slightly in his direction. In the light that glinted off it, it put to mind the image of a ghost peering up out of dark waters. The image was dissolved when they held the odd axe above their head in one gloved hand and gave it a shake before finally turning and facing the knights once more.

"Impudent," the count muttered as he relaxed into his seat once more. The man was hard to read himself without a mask, but the amusement and irritation were plain. 

Hubert hardly paid him any mind though. Familiarity bloomed in his chest like warmth. He was transfixed by the individual and watched their every move closely, struck by the feeling. Their movements were as fluid as a dance and they danced their way gracefully out of the path of more than one oncoming blade. It was an exceptionally deft display of agility and foresight and Hubert found himself impressed by it.

Arundel clutched at the armrest of his seat, his knuckles and face gone white with understated rage 

It seemed however the count was of the opposite opinion, and that the knights agreed. Down below, the shouts and grunts of the remaining knights battling this lone dancer grew more audible and their actions more reckless. When they had entered the ballroom, the training had been rather subdued; an exercise in formation, their movements both deliberate and precise. Now, embarrassed before a noble audience, the knights had become erratic in their movements and their blows sloppy.

One knight, a rather large specimen Hubert was willing to wager was an alpha, seemed to grow more impatient than the rest of them. They broke out of their formation to rush at the axe-wielding opponent who had just staved off another knight as was in the process of giving another feint.

The knight raised their sword and struck with a furious shout.

The blow hit on the underside of the axe head, pushing the masked individual back some distance. They'd managed to stay upright and deflect it, but it was obvious they'd been taken off guard by the ferocity of their attacker. What was more, it was apparent the knight had aimed to do real damage, no longer content to allow themselves to be made a fool of.

From the corner of his eye, Hubert noted Arundel's hand slacken around the edge of the armrest, his expression grown smug. This person might be a so-called project of his, but it had become clear that he wanted something to happen.

Caught with their axe by the heft of the sword, the knight had finally gotten a leg-up on them. Or so it seemed. The rest of the knights had fallen back, to watch the tense scene unfold from a distance.

The two were at something of an impasse. The axe-wielding fighter held in place with the knight bearing down on them. The knight pressed harder and harder with their sword, and heated words he could not make out were exchanged between them. Or rather, the knight exchanged words, their face twisted with amusement and hate under their helmet, and the individual stayed silent and still.

It seemed as though the knight truly had them pinned. That was until they moved. They pulled back, away from the knight causing them to falter forward in an uneasy step that echoed in the hall. The masked fighter The knight seemed stunned yet only for a second before they were 

"Hold!" Arundel called out, startling Hubert, and stood, commanding them from the edge of the box railing.

"Leave us, and take that imbecile with you when you go," he motioned toward the prone knight who had remained where he had been flung earlier and two of them took him up around the shoulders and lead him half dragging him, out of the ballroom through a side door that led to a servant’s corridor.

"Hubert," He said entreatingly. "Come forward, I would like for you to meet this person." It was not a request. Arundel held a hand out to Hubert, the intent obvious and reluctantly he went to stand at the edge of the railing by Arundel's side. As he drew closer he could feel the bottom of his stomach give way and his legs grow weak. Gazing down over the edge some thirty feet Hubert grew dizzy so that when Arundel's hand fell to his back to urge him forward, he could only focus on the mask peering back up at him impassively as he went.

“Kneel,” Arundel ordered coldly and they obeyed, going to one knee just below where Lord Arundel and Hubert stood, with head bowed and the strange axe held to the floor. 

“You were sloppy and reactionary. You should not have toyed with them so," Arundel's voice cut deep. "I did not put all this effort and so many resources into your training, only for you to disrespect those gifts by playing around. Aymr is not a toy. More than once, I noted its blade scraping the floor. Will I find a dent on the floor as a result of your sloppy work, I wonder? At this time, you are unworthy of its power."

“Hubert, what did you think?” The count’s voice was tight with irritation even with his false courtesy. Hubert took a moment to compose his thoughts.

"I. . . . I think you moved with great intent. You have a command of the axe that is plain to see, and your strength," he said, his voice surging higher and from the side, he noted Arundel's hand clenching around the balustrade so hard his hairy knuckles had gone white. "Was very apparent in every move that you made."

He had more, plenty more but Arundel held an abrupt hand up to him and he kept silent.

"Remove your mask,” he snapped. “Greet your guest properly."

The breath caught in Hubert's throat as he watched the fighter pull back their dark hood and reach for the mask’s straps. His mind whirled with emotion; unease, trepidation, pride, guilt. But the feeling he'd had of familiarity had grown so that when the mask was finally taken away, he was not at all surprised to see white hair tumble down and Lady Edelgard's face framed by it.

This was a game after all. Arundel was the master and they his pawns and he would never let them forget it.

"Welcome back Hubert," she said, her quiet voice carrying easily up to him in the silence of the hall.

He inclined his head to her and bowed at the waist, giving deference as though he weren't high above her and as though he hadn't only just witnessed her uncle use her as a plaything and chew her out.

“Thank you, my lady. I am happy to be back.”

* * *

Dinner was a subdued, uneasy affair to say the least. 

Arundel sat at the head of the table, Hubert to one side, and lady Edelgard to the other. Dinner was indeed braised duck, served impeccably on a bed of green, with shining bowls of jelly and other dishes. Arundel had his vintage, which Hubert and Edelgard had both declined to sample.

Logic dictated it could not have possibly been poisoned. What purpose would it serve to have brought Hubert here or to train Lady Edelgard at all if he were merely going to poison them by dinnertime? Cruelty. Amusement. He wouldn't put it above him to poison the wine and drink it alongside them; it was likely he kept an antidote or bezoar on his person at all times as Hubert did. Maybe he had even built up a tolerance to certain poisons and drank them in front of people to unnerve his would-be enemies. 

And the matter of lady Edelgard’s “training” in the ballroom, the theater the count had produced seemingly for his own amusement and her humiliation-- it was almost too ridiculous, too offensive to think about.

Hubert's head throbbed, but it went ignored. Like clockwork, on and on his mind worked as they ate in silence. Arundel seemed content to allow it, methodically cutting his food and delicately eating it with relish. Lady Edelgard at the other side of the table, ate with a mechanical grace, her face as impassive as her mask had been. 

She looked every bit the imperial princess she was, her fine white hair pulled back from her face and her tailored suit immaculate, a napkin placed on her lap. It was hard to believe not even an hour ago she was dressed so plainly and fighting against knights nearly half again her size. Despite her composure, he couldn't help but be drawn to the dark circles beneath her violet eyes that were so like his own. He tried not to stare overmuch. She made no eye contact with him but instead chose to be as silent as her uncle.

Arundel spoke sometime after he'd taken seemingly enough wine and bird to sate him. 

"I regret," he began, sounding not at all bereaved as he dabbed a napkin to his whiskered face. "That his imperial majesty could not join us tonight. He has taken ill of late and dines early in his chambers. The changing of the seasons exacerbates his illness, I’m afraid.”

There was a marked note of triumph to Arundel’s voice, as there always was when he spoke of the emperor in his daughter’s presence. Edelgard did not give any notice that what he said bothered her. It was true enough that the emperor often became ill, he had done ever since the coup.

“But you Hubert," the man said, turning to him. "We are very happy to have you restored with us tonight."

"I thank you, Lord Arundel. I am pleased to be back at her ladyship’s side." He looked to her, and finally she flashed him a slight but no less beatific look of pleasure.

"We have much to discuss with our young friend, don’t we Edelgard?"

She said nothing in response, but it didn’t seem the count was waiting for one.

"The true reason for Edelgard’s particular training, her future and your place in it too, Hubert. You asked something similar of me earlier. . ." He trailed off, taking a sip of his wine instead. It seemed he expected Hubert to finish for him. Another facet of his game. Make everyone as uncomfortable as possible. Remind all the pawns exactly what they were, exactly where their place was.

"The matter of your asking for my hand in marriage, lord Arundel. I trust now that you had an adequate reason beyond the mundane of affection."

"Mmm. I did in fact. But I will start simply. The fact of the matter is that you two have been operating independently for years and that is now unacceptable for our ultimate good."

Hubert stiffened in his seat. He’d expected any manner of lie or vulgarity, but somehow he had not expected Arundel coming right out and admitting such a thing. He _knew_.

He seemed to think Hubert would make a rebuttal and held up a placating hand while Hubert grit his teeth.

"No need to be bashful. I have known for nearly as long about your dealings investigating the church and I commend you, truly. You are both resourceful and clever young things." 

Sweat trickled at Hubert’s hairline. The commentarius? He recalled Lady Edelgard's words to him on its very pages. _"It could very well be my paranoia. . ."_ Thoughts of all their confidences flooded him. Could Arundel truly have tapped his lady’s commentarius? Was his magic really so weak and obvious? 

Arundel seemed to notice his inner turmoil and he smiled.

"Fret not, young Hubert. You need no longer work individually. The time has come for the truth to be unveiled."

As he watched the man drink more of his wine, eyes closing in obvious ecstasy at the taste, Hubert ran through all the tasteless poisons he knew.

“Ah,” Arundel held the glass aloft to admire its contents. “I’ve forgotten the vintage, but I believe this is a gift from the Count of Gloucester. Quite excellent.”

So there really _was_ no chance of errant poisoning then, seeing as the Count of Gloucester had almost as much stake in Arundel’s continued livelihood as Arundel himself. Many noble families could claim the same.

"As I'm sure you know, Hubert, much effort has been put into training the princess to be the perfect heir. Many pains have been taken, and _needful_ sacrifices made. I understand these efforts may seem cruel to some, but they have all been of the utmost necessity."

Here, Arundel gave them both a sympathetic look, spanning between the both of them with the look of the knowing, but stern uncle. 

Needful sacrifices. . . Everyone of his lady's siblings dead, her imperial father reduced to nothing, her mother disappeared and unaccounted for . . . As Arundel talked, Hubert kept an eye on her. Through all this, Lady Edelgard remained silent and peaceable, keeping her face as impassive as her mask had been, with no sign that her uncle's words had any effect.

"As you’ve seen tonight, she has had some new training. You have it right, the church is the real evil, as I'm sure Edelgard has informed you-- as I’m sure your own judgment has informed you. It is the home of lies and the progenitor of every ill in this country and all the land. They've used their power to elevate certain bloodlines and punish others unjustly. Ultimately, their goal is to keep the populace of Fodlán complacent and blind to the truth. Blind to their evils, evils that have been hiding in plain sight for centuries."

Arundel put down his wineglass then and snapped a gloved finger. The servant who had been waiting silently as though for this very signal, opened the door behind him.

“Think about it,” he continued. “They have set themselves up as the seat of governance for all that is good and righteous. They posit that the best among us, the most deserving of praise, and all the wealth of this world are those of us whose bloodlines have been touched by their goddess. Gifted with the blood of the _divine._ ”

Several more servants entered and carried between them a large covered platter. They placed it upon the great table just beyond the setting of their meals. The platter made an audible _thump_ as it was placed down upon the thick, mahogany table. Whatever it was had to be quite heavy. 

"I know you are a very pragmatic, shrewd young man Hubert. Edelgard needs such guidance to ground her. As such, I realize you may need solid proof of the truth."

 _Truth,_ Hubert thought, and kept quiet. _Such a thing means nothing coming from your mouth._

Arundel rose and the servants backed away. The platter was wide and the cloche high; it was a serving platter meant for a larger fowl or cut of meat. Without further ceremony, Arundel grabbed hold of the handle and raised it.

Of all things, filling the entire platter was a large dusty skull, approximately the size, and shape of a cow's skull. He would have thought it a cow skull, were it not for the teeth. Around the mouth, the skin peeled back in a grimace revealing jagged teeth, some nearly as long as a forefinger. In other places, the bone was bare white. Horns larger than a cow’s curved dramatically from the head. In the candlelight of the dining room, juxtaposed with the picked-over carcass of the duck, it seemed another piece of their meal. Another more gruesome piece which, had he a weaker stomach, might have caused Hubert to be upset onto his plate; the thing stank of must and death.

His mouth was dry, he licked his lips. "What is this?"

"Its name was Lamine," Arundel said simply and finished the remainder of his wine in one draught.

"One of the ten Elites.” Hubert had never been religious but knew of all the legends and heroes that populated the creation myth of the empire. The Elites were the founding members of the Empire’s noble families, blessed by the blood of the goddess herself and given powers which manifested in mortal blood in the form of Crests. Myths and stories and nothing more.

“This _thing_ was the saint Lamine?”

"That is what they have styled themselves as. Saints and heroes. But there is nothing saintly about them. . . This remnant was passed into my possession years ago, in the course of some reconstruction done on a property I hold. The workers unearthed this _thing’s_ resting ground and a stone claiming its origin. . . . Up until that point I had had no proof, nothing to justify that what I had long suspected was the truth. But now the proof is to hand."

"You'll forgive my impudence Lord Arundel, but I hardly see how such a thing can prove your theory. All I see is a rotting wyvern skull." It felt good to question him like this, to inject the derision this man inspired into his voice, despite the constant unease he also inspired. Arundel smiled, untroubled by Hubert’s questioning, and reached a hand within his robes.

Of all the things he could have pulled out-- a dagger, poison, a spell-- Hubert had not expected it to be a small cloth bundle. Carefully, the count unwrapped the bundle and revealed his prize; A small moon-shaped, gold amulet set with blue gems and held on a long chain. It glittered handsomely in the candlelight.

"The Rafail Gem, Lamine’s lost relic. It came into my possession only recently, by way of an estate sale. I do not think the man knew what treasure he had, but desperation can make you careless. Regardless, this relic is imbued with a power that can only be unlocked by one of Lamine's bloodline. Or by the creature _herself._ "

Hubert knew of such relics too, and that many had either been lost with time or were housed within the church itself for safekeeping. He couldn’t recall exactly which family it was that claimed Lamine, but he was certain they would balk at their ancestor and bloodline being so maligned. 

Arundel rose to stand before the thing's decrepit face. Then without a word, he unfurled the chain and placed the amulet directly atop the skull. The second the gem lay upon the crown of the skull, light shone from its empty sockets. Blue and pale as the gem, the light reflected across the table like water. 

When Arundel finally spoke his voice was soft and compelling, an orator on his stage. 

"Lamine's was a healing power and her relic a curative one. It is capable of miraculous healing powers, yet cannot restore itself to life. We have run several tests and the most it can do is restore some of the flesh of the skull." 

In silence Hubert watched the thing for several minutes, fascinated. Indeed, it seemed the flesh grew back the longer the gem sat at its brow. There was no mistaking the slow creep of scaled flesh as it traveled over dead bone. It recalled the peel of cooked skin over meat but in reverse, and his own skin crawled as Arundel spoke, the man’s gaze transfixed on the thing.

"Nearly a thousand years dead and even now the power that remains within it still responds. It is an inhuman thing, _monstrous_ thing. And this supposed saintly relic left behind to unlock its powers-- a cursed thing. Think of it-- The church has given us these legends, given us these relics and these lies to hide the truth. The truth of their evils. Truly, they are our enemy and a pervasive one which has had a millennium to dilute its poisonous blood into nearly every noble family across the continent. An enemy that has nestled itself into the highest seats of power across this land. This blood is An enemy that hides in plain sight and laughs at us for our pitiful lives. But we will have the last laugh, won't we niece?"

Lady Edelgard had been silent during her uncle's demonstration and monologue, but she'd long finished her meal. She sat mildly by with her hands folded atop one another and stared into the glowing eye sockets of the thing that had apparently once been a noblewoman. Her eyes reflected only the unearthly light of the thing and when she faced her uncle betrayed no emotion.

"Yes, uncle. We certainly will."

Arundel placed a hand upon her shoulder.

"This was the purpose I had in offering my hand. I had wished to keep you close to us Hubert, you can see my reasoning. But as your father has expressed his displeasure. . . Well. It is negligable. We will find a way."

 _Negligable_ indeed. . . Such reasoning was scant, but he would accept it for now. He was out of the count's reach that much.

"I have a feeling I know where your opinion stands Hubert, but I will have your oath. Will you stand with us against this tyranny?”

Arundel had become impassioned during his speech and now fixed Hubert with a look of singular focus. Lady Edelgard fixed her gaze upon him as well, though it was blank. Hers was a power of impassivity which had been born of necessity, and so he took strength from it as he returned that level stare. There was only one answer he could give.

He stood from his chair caring not that it screeched across the tiles, and straightened. Both regent and crown princess watched him as he took up an arm and bowed at the waist. Not as a noble might bend to another, and not as an omega ought to an alpha, but as a servant with devotion for his master. When he rose again Lady Edelgard still said nothing, though he swore he could see in her eyes a spark of _something._

"There is no question," he said, ignoring Arundel's self-satisfied smirk. The man might have demanded his oath, but there was only one person who could claim ownership of such a thing. "Your path is my path lady, and I will be behind your every step."

Across the table, she smiled wanly and it was more than enough.

* * *

Following the uncomfortable affair of dinner, Arundel entreated Hubert to make himself at home once again but took Lady Edelgard away to speak with her before anything else. Left to his own amusement, Hubert took to his room to wait.

The set of rooms the Vestra family had resided in during Hubert’s childhood lay under cloth cover and layers of dust which had not been disturbed since his father had relocated them to the manor years ago. He had no need or desire to ever return to them.

The room which he kept at the palace was not too far from the wing of the Imperial residence. When he entered it that night, he saw it lay remarkably undisturbed from the last time he had been months previous. The only thing different being the presence of his luggage at the foot of the bed, unpacked and waiting for him as the servants all knew he preferred.

He ran a finger along the edge of an eye-level shelf of his bookcase, pleased at the layer of dust that had accumulated there. No one had intruded.

He amused himself by checking his stores. In the hidden compartment at the back of his armoire, his collection of chemicals, tinctures, and poisons lay unmolested and unchanged. In the false back of one shelf, his prized set of grimoires were all accounted for. Beneath the frame of his bed on either side, his daggers hung within easy reach. All was as it should be. 

He began the task of unpacking, putting his clothes to rights, and shelving the books and tomes he’d liberated from the manor library. The certain _narratives_ he’d been gifted from the good doctor, he placed beneath the bed. Out of sight.

He made his way over to the wall where the fireplace was located and beside it, a tapestry depicting a scene out of a legend. A hero with armor covered in blades and knives and thorns and their opponent, a foul spitting serpent impaling itself upon the hero’s ghastly suit of arms, locked themselves in perpetual battle on the wall of his bedroom. The name of the legend was lost to him, but the scene had been fearsome enough to impress him when he’d been younger and angrier that he found he couldn’t get rid of it even now.

He tucked a hand beneath it, and familiar with the grooves of the stone grout as with the back of his own pale hands, pressed the correct number of stones. The wall clicked. The seams between the stones hissed. The mechanism that operated the hidden door groaned as Hubert pushed it inward. 

In the dark of the claustrophobic passage, Hubert walked with confidence. He had walked this passage a thousand times, no light needed.

The imperial wing where the emperor and family lived was the locus of the palace’s second level. It was at the approximate center and housed the most prominent residents and so the servant quarters had a direct staircase to the wing to serve the family with ease and haste. 

However, a room like his was special. He was no mere servant.

His father’s room had a passageway like this to the emperor’s, should the need ever arise for him to make a quick and discreet visit to his majesty. Likewise, when he had returned to the palace following his father’s shameful escape to the country Hubert had sought a similar room. That the room in question may have once been used to house the paramour of a former imperial prince and the passageway built to facilitate their secret rendezvous was unimportant. He used it to its best advantage serving his lady.

At the passageway’s egress was a slightly less complicated door, one made of wood and locked from the other side for her ladyship’s safety. 

He knocked once and waited. He heard the sound of the latch being undone and unlocked, and after a moment he opened the door. In the dim room, she sat before her vanity in her robe waiting, white hair down around her face.

"My Lady."

“Hubert.”

She was tired looking in the extreme. Throughout dinner, he had not quite gauged the degree of her weariness. Face to face and alone in her room, he could see fully the bags beneath her eyes, the wan color of her skin. She sat rigid and composed, the picture of poise despite her obvious discomfort and despite all that had taken place that night. 

He was pleased to note as he came forward and took the knee, that her scent did not bother him. It was light and airy, hers pleasant and unoffending unlike the pheromones of other alphas he'd encountered thus far. It made his return that much easier. She may be an alpha and he an omega but it changed nothing, just as she had said in their correspondence.

As he had many times before, he took up the brush from her vanity and began the nightly task of arranging her hair into plaits.

They did this ritual most nights before his change. As her vassal, he had not trained to attend to her so like a handmaiden but the duty had practically fallen into his lap and he’d taken to it with gusto. And although his earliest attempts had not been the prettiest, Lady Edelgard had borne it just as well and they’d both come to enjoy the activity.

They passed the time in deep silence. Outside her window, the rain still thundered on. Inside the room, the fire crackled to its embers. He would have to stoke it before he left her for the night.

“My uncle has gone mad,” she said softly.

His fingers tangled in fine white hair and the brush held still a moment before he resumed his work.

“So he has,” he agreed.

“I fear I must be mad as well because I believe him.”

“How so lady?”

“He did not present me with the theater he gave you tonight when he informed me of his conspiracies . . . The things that were done to me, the _things_ I saw then- I- cannot explain it clearly. . . I cannot.”

He pretended not to hear as her throat worked and she swallowed her audible fear. His chest hurt to hear her so afraid, as it had to see her so ill-used all these years.

When she had returned from her trip to the kingdom, she had come back mute. She did not speak for the better part of the year. Either she would not or could not. When she finally spoke it was of little inconsequential things and it took her an age to take him into her confidence. She had never fully explained the depth of the horrors she had suffered, but she didn’t need to.

She continued, her voice growing less tremulous.

“When I was given this _gift_ uncle told me of his truths, of the evils in the church. His monsters. He means--has always meant to use me to destroy them. . . I have kept this from you for a time and only told you as much as I could bear, I am sorry. I only wished-- I do not know what I wished, it is madness. So you see now why I could not leave this to writing alone.”

In his fingers, her white hair slipped easily in testament to his thorough brushing. There was a time when her hair had been auburn, a time in which her siblings had seen to her hair. That time was gone.

He chose his words carefully.

“You are not mad. You are not wrong to believe, _I_ believe him. But it is not enough to believe what a tyrant says at face value. Monsters are too much for one to take without seeing them in the _living flesh,_ despite all the evidence of ills within the church. We will find the truth for ourselves, as we have been doing where it concerns the church’s wrongdoings. There is nothing to apologize for lady.”

“Thank you. Thank you, Hubert. It means more than you can imagine to have you here.”

After such an admission, he kept silent for a time. He understood her hesitancy and her paranoia now. He’d always understood the fear, knowing what he did of the coup and her uncle’s place orchestrating it. It did not so much feel like a betrayal or a consolation that it had taken her until now to involve him. It only hurt that she had kept it to herself for so long.

There were monsters in the church and vermin within the nobility and he would see to it they’d be exterminated. One above all was most pestilential.

“You know as Lord Arundel seems so keen on me now,” he began, tone light, “there are _other strategies_ available than to merely follow his whims. It may only be a matter of sweet-talking him and slipping a tincture into his tea and some of our most imminent problems could be solved. If only they could be so easily solved.” He’d meant it in jest, but grinning slightly to himself he looked back at the mirror to find her reflection horror-struck. She grabbed at his hand and he was shocked to find her fingers trembling.

“Hubert, do not even joke about such things,” she whispered, her violet eyes wide with unmistakable terror.

“Of course, my apologies.” It was all he could do to soothe her to agree quietly and gently untangle his hand from hers. His stomach lurched. He’d crossed a line by making such a crass and careless joke. Treacherous or not, Arundel was still her uncle and the discovery of the relatively young regent deceased in his bed would rock not only the court but the whole country. The empire’s government was unsteady enough that there was no telling who might take over after his hypothetical death. Civil war might likely be the outcome. Perhaps Gerta’s novels had begun to rot his brain.

“Uncle is too dangerous. I would never ask it of you to put yourself through such an indignity beside. Whatever problems may be solved by it, the outcome could not be worth it. Please, do not entertain such ideas. You may continue your investigations into the church as you have been doing, but know that uncle is watching us both. He has resources that go _far_ beyond the realm of the court. You must tread carefully, Hubert. We both must.”

“I had no true intentions, my lady. I apologize for my forwardness. I agree that we must bide our time. There is no telling what may happen if we move with such carelessness.”

“That is all I can ask, thank you.”

* * *

They passed the time after that in more comfortable silence. He finished her sleeping braid with a silk ribbon and smoothed it down with a conscientious eye. Edelgard admired his handiwork in the mirror at her vanity as he stoked the fireplace back to life.

“I have missed this, my hair has suffered without you,” she lamented.

“I only encountered one snarl, my lady, it didn’t suffer so much. I know how much you care for your hair.”

She laughed. “You are always so obliging Hubert! Still, I suppose in the future I will have to go without. . . You, an omega. I never would have thought.”

“Wonders never cease," he deadpanned, prodding at one burning log so it fell crackling atop another. "But you will not have to worry about going without. One way or the other, I will stay by your side and your hair will get seen to. Mark my words.”

When he rose, she was smiling slyly. The glint of firelight in her eye made her appear particularly impish, and although the thought was quite disrespectful it was apt.

“You realize what sponsorship entails, do you not? As your sponsor I have the honor to _present_ you to society at large.”

“I had some notion of what you refer to, but I can’t say I am altogether looking forward to it." He had given it some thought before, but he gave her the impression of just then mulling it over, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. "However, given that the imperial court might potentially all be in attendance, I could still go about my intelligence business. . . And it offers me a wider variety of possible suitors besides, so I suppose the idea does have more to recommend itself than initially thought.”

“Come now,” she said, light reproach in her voice though it was clear the conversation amused her greatly. “It has been a while, but I don’t remember Ferdinand being all that bad. Your marrying anybody is far from the ideal in our situation, but there are worse suitors to be saddled with.”

“That has yet to be seen.”

“A ball though. . . I know it’s frivolous of me to say, but how entertaining it will be to mingle and dance. Hubert, wouldn’t you like to dance?”

“If needs must lady, I will,” he said grimly and she could only laugh.

* * *

When he finally returned to his room once again, he left her lighter than she had been before. At least she could smile and laugh about his circumstances, at least her smile had been easier. Let her be cheery now and let her think of festive things, let him take back his share of the burden. She had not laughed so in years and he feared that in the years to come, she would have even less cause to do so.

Once settled back in his quarters he took to investigating her commentarius, and finding nothing out of the ordinary, retired the project for later scrutiny. They would not need to make use of it now that they were both in the city and he already had so much to occupy him.

He had much ahead of him to do, they both had. Of all the duties that lie ahead-- of the spywork, the spellwork, the concocting, the scheming-- the prospect of meeting with the von Aegir boy with a view to _marrying_ him irritated him the most. Thinking on what a piggy little libertine he knew the elder von Aegir to be, he had no doubt the younger was every bit as odious, despite what his lady had to say on the matter.

Arundel was a constant enemy and had always factored into their future plans along with the other noble traitors. They would be dealt with someday, but for the present were all to be obliged and tolerated. The threat of assassins was ever-present in the life of a princess and he took pains as her vassal to assuage those threats if they ever arose.

But indeed, out of all the threats and expectations and future schemes that awaited them, marriage was the one that most confounded and irritated. Anything that stood between him and Lady Edelgard was not to be borne.

He wondered when he should send for Ferdinand. According to the rules of sponsorship, he was at his leisure to correspond with and meet suitors and as Lady Edelgard was the highest sponsor in the court he could have asked for, his own “leisure” could be as long as he damn well pleased.

Finally slipping into bed with this diverting idea, he closed his eyes and composed the hypothetical letter until he fell asleep. 

_Dearest Piglet von Aegir,_

_I regret to inform you my schedule is overbooked for the foreseeable future, and I cannot meet with you presently. How does the first of the Great Tree Moon, eleven hundred and never work for you?_

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, maybe I have a comment. . . Look, listen. Sometimes you can't focus enough to finish much of anything, and instead you just have to play otomes, minecraft and games with cute little animals selling you home loans to cope. For 10 months. You know that relatable feel, right???
> 
> "Edelgard and Ferdinand are coming soon, I promise. ;)" "I hope to finish this by the end of the year :^)" u are a liarpantsonfire ms. Beast, queen of time mismanagement. 
> 
> But yay anyway! We made it to the end of the year y'all! And my dumbass actually finished this chapter before the end of the year, at the very least! I'm proud of myself :,)
> 
> I would just like to thank everyone who read, commented, kudos'd etc, you are the best. Even if I'm the only one who can make myself write, you have all been incredibly supportive and your comments motivating, thank you! 
> 
> No promises this time, but it probably won't take ten months for the next chapter. SUper excited for a certain person to make his appearance. >> Hupert, you got a big storm coming bby lol.
> 
> It's kind of long(was hoping to keep my chapters between 6k-9k) and long overdue (cries) but I'm really jazzed to have this chapter in good order finally and excited to hear what y'all think. All errors are mine, this is unbeta'd. If you spot any errors, inconsistencies, have any comments, critiques, idk ramen recipes, rants etc. I'd love to hear them! Thanks again guys, hope you enjoyed!


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